The Founder Returns: Inferno
by FigTreeofyourImagination
Summary: The miasma of secrets and lies has deepened. Zidane, former hero of Gaia, has found himself an unwitting target in a grander game of dark design. What will happen to those he treasures most when the hammer falls at long last?
1. Prologue

Disclaimers: Zidane and his cohort all belong to Squaresoft and its leech Enix.

But everything else not theirs is mine.

Note to all: This is a sequel to '_The Founder_', but before you all go running away, I will say that for the most part it is not imperative that you read the former to enjoy this fic (though it is recommended as the later chapters start rolling for comprehensibility's sake). This a horror story, and so its contents will eventually involve and probably not be limited to bloodshed, gore, grievous bodily harm, disco dancing, zombies, general confusion and wierdness and some elements that may seem to some as disturbing (no not hentai!). However, all of this won't be showing up for a least a little bit, so no need to rush off and grab a vomit baggie just yet. Hence, the rating will be staked at 'T' for now, but will be brought up later to 'M' for safety's sake.

To those of you who have already read '_The Founder_', I hope this will live up to your expectations, and I thank you for being so patient in waiting for this to be put up. As promised, the second part of this epic will be longer, better written, and will deal with some of those little loose ends I left behind.

Without further stalling, I bid thee happy reading. Enjoy.

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THE FOUNDER RETURNS: INFERNO

PROLOGUE: AN UNWELCOME REMINDER

The King looked over the peaceful city of Alexandria from the castle balcony, a small breeze tussling his blond hair. Though as bright as the day was, and as happy the people always were, the King was far from joyous. A deep frown dominated his features, reflecting that something was amiss in his mind. He had been getting… disturbing reports from all over the countryside; tales of strange beasts surfacing around rural settlements, frightening and attacking folk… The Mist had been gone for twenty years, so there was no reason for the monsters that had been birthed from its evil to reappear. At most, such beings roamed the far underground and only the densest of forests, where the Mist still clung to Gaia's earth.

But even so, the beasts described in the reports sent by the Roaming Guard he had since received didn't even come close to the creatures of Mist most of the older generation were so accustomed. No, nothing so tame. These were _monsters_.

The Roaming Guard would be bringing in a 'specimen' to the royal grounds for examination, in hopes that the identity of the creature would be found. Of course, the thing would be dead before it reached the city's gates. He didn't want the lives of his people threatened for the trifles of morbid science. Zidane sighed and shook his head slightly, his hands clasped behind his back. Being a King was hard work, not that he hadn't realised it before he married the Queen. For eighteen years, they had ruled over the folk of their nation, side by side. Their reign was one of justice and fairness, and they had the trust and hearts of all within their reach.

A soft knock sounded on his door. "Father?"

He turned. "Yes, Philippe?"

The wooden portal opened to admit a thin, tall brunet with naturally swept back hair. Mismatched eyes of blue and brown glittered with a mischievous light he inherited straight from the legendary thief that was known for stealing the heart of the Alexandrian Queen. Swaying behind him in proof of his lineage, was a thin, dark tail. "Hey, pop, ready to grab the stuff from the attics?" he questioned the elder genome.

Zidane gave the youth a smirk. "As I'll ever be, come on," he said, motioning for the young adult to follow him as he left the chamber. "The sooner we find this stuff, the better."

The Prince followed the King with a bright grin.

The heir to the Alexandrian throne was hardly above eighteen, and thus was headstrong and rather blunt. Whether he got it from his mother or father the two rulers were still arguing about, though the former thief was sure he had picked it up from a certain Pluto Captain. Philippe had also gained much of his father's charms, and had developed a rather prominent flirting streak that rivalled that of his father's during his days of freedom. But like his mother, however, his heart was larger than any body could hope to contain, it just needed to get past his sharp tongue first.

There was to be a grand banquet later the following day, with all of the former heroes of their yesteryears were invited to attend as well as some very special guests. It had been nearly a year since the former group of travellers had held such a party, and it would be a more than welcome change to the monotony of daily life. The Alexandrian King walked slowly, mulling over recent events as his son towed along behind. Things were going very smoothly on the grander scale. The ties between Alexandria and the region of Lindblum were stronger than ever, with a great deal of thanks going to the regent's adopted daughter, Eiko Carol. The kingdom of Burmecia had sworn allegiance with the other two ruling powers to aid in keeping the peace as well. However, much of that was of the Burmecian King's, as well as his capricious son's, efforts. The dwindling numbers of the famous Dragon Knights had played no part in the decision. Rumours claimed that their ranks still held the sword city in contempt for the lawless slaughter that had been brought upon their heads twenty years before by Kuja and the hypnotised Queen Brahne.

The Prince pranced up to his father's side and gave him a playful sock in the arm. "Hey, man, why so dark and brooding?" he piped. "We're having a party! Don't get all miserly before the guests have even arrived!"

"I'm not miserly!" argued the older of the two with an equally cheeky grin.

Philippe tapped his father's noggin. "Ooh, maybe not… but…"

Zidane gave him a look. "But what?"

The Prince just smirked. "But… you're getting senile!"

The ruler gave his son a Charlie Horse.

"Ow!" complained the youth with a laugh.

"Stop that!" chuckled the blond. "My memory's better than yours."

"It is not!"

King and Prince made their way from the fourth level to the topmost floors were the castle's multiple attics were kept. The spare silver and chinaware was stored here, along with the Queen's old dresses and a score of other things of all sizes and values. Mirrors, cabinets, busts… the list was long. "Well, do you know what it is you're looking for?" asked Zidane, slowing his pace.

Philippe was taking the masses of old junk in with interest. "Ah… weapons, pop."

"Weapons?" He stopped. "You think there are weapons up here? Who gave you that idea?"

"Mom told me," he stated simply, wandering off into some corner. "She said there are some good fighting wares up here somewhere."

The King scoffed. "'Somewhere', sure. A sword, I'm guessing?"

"Yeah…" replied the Prince, not really paying attention.

The arguably more mature of the two of them just rolled his eyes and set to work, scanning the vast area with a trained eye.

Philippe merely wandered, not really helping his father, but more aiding his rampant curiosity. Nearly everything around him was draped in cloth. The entire room, from what he could tell with what little was still left to see, was painted entirely white. The windows were grimy with so much dust and untouched stains that the sun filtering through was incredibly dim for the time of day. Some prize rays shed a brighter light, illuminating the floating dust bunnies in the air. It was places like this, strange, unexplored (to him) places that were filled with countless items and chests, that Philippe loved the most. He enjoyed finding things, looking through old books just to see how much type was in them, seeing if a neglected candelabra could still shine with a good polishing, picking age-old locks off of even older luggage. It was a sort of adventure for him, the kind that could quite honestly lead anywhere, without the risk of life or limb. He enjoyed fighting, too, and was incredibly talented with a training sword; he just didn't take as much interest in it as his father or weapon's instructor, Adelbert Steiner, would have liked. He wasn't all for governing a whole country, either. He'd much rather just be an average Joe… but he'd miss the pampering, to be honest. "How you doing, pop?" he questioned, rifling through an old dresser for treasure.

The King was busy in his own corner of dust and sheets. "Well, that depends. Are you looking for a sword, too? Or are you goofing around like you usually are?"

The Prince didn't answer, bending over to get a better look inside a jammed drawer.

Zidane just shook his head and continued to do what his son should have been doing.

With the dust bothering him a bit more than he'd like, Philippe retreated from the old dresser and made for the far back, some large, covered items catching his mismatched gaze. Most he could already tell were furniture, but there was one thing, way in the back, that looked like something else. It was taller than he was, and he was a good six or so feet, and that just demanded to be examined.

He wove his way through the ancient furniture and fixtures to the flat thing hidden by a stained white sheet. Was it a mirror? Or some kind of portrait? Finally reaching the thing, he tore the concealing cover from the object the moment he got his hands on it. The sheet fell away with a heavy cloud of age old dust.

It was a painting. With the sheet still in his hand he gave the thing a good once-over. In the centre sat his mother and father in a wine-red loveseat, quite a few years younger, with him, but a babe, in their shared grasp. All around his parents were six other figures. The two at his folks' immediate right and left were the two mages, Eiko and Vivi, hardly out of their first decade. Behind the blue haired Summoner was the renowned Dragon Knight, Freya, pike in one hand, and the other resting on the Queen's shoulder. Beside and behind here was the Gourmand, Quina, followed by the old Pluto Captain with his sword in his scabbard. But the last character, who was standing behind his seated father, with a large, pale hand on his shoulder, he did not recognise. The man was very tall, but had a bad slouch; his skin was nearly blue it was so pale, and his hair was more red than the roses that adorned his grandmother's grave, his clothing a sharply contrasting forest green. The man was smiling in such a way it was nearly a smirk of contempt, with a single, bright cats-eye of yellow-green peering out through the scarlet dreadlocks. The gaze, though fabricated, was so intense it nearly made the Prince cringe. He called out to his father. "Hey, pop… Who is this man?" he asked, pointing.

"Hmm?" Zidane stood up, a dusty sheath in his hands. He wandered over to his son. "Who?" He looked up at the painting, and his expression fell noticeably.

"This man here," said Philippe. "With the red hair. I know everyone else in this picture, but not him. Is he a friend of yours?"

The Alexandrian King was silent, staring up at the old portrait.

Philippe wrenched his gaze from the framed painting to his father, puzzled at his silence. "Dad?"

The former thief snapped out of his reverie, clutching the scabbard as if to keep himself awake. "Oh, him? He was… he was a friend… his name was ah… Amarant Coral."

The Prince reverted his stare back to the thing before him. "Oh?" He tilted his head sideways. "Was he a hero, too? He travelled with you guys all over the world?"

"Yes," he replied slowly, keeping his sight trained on the sword he had found. "Yes he was."

"So… then, why haven't I seen him before? Hasn't he ever come to any of your parties?" He looked again to his shorter father. "I've never heard you or mom mention him before."

Zidane took a deep breath. "That's because, Philippe… He's… ah… he's dead."

The Prince was momentarily stunned.

Reaching over, the King took the cover from his son's hand and draped it back over the portrait, sealing away the unhealthy stare from the inanimate man in the painting. "We don't usually talk about him, your mother and I… He was a good man… It just… brings back some unhappy memories, that's all." He sighed and remembered what he held in his hands. "Ah, here," he said, brighter. "I found this." He held the sword up to the Prince. Philippe took it and pulled the weapon from its sheath. The polished metal came away with a ring of a fine blade. "That's pure White Steel, if I'm not mistaken," told Zidane. "A rare find. It's a powerful sword, and it will serve you well… If you choose to actually use it," he added teasingly.

Philippe slipped the sword back into the scabbard. "Wow… Thanks, pop!"

He just shook his head, a grin on his face. "Just stop calling me 'pop'. It sounds weird. 'Dad' sounds better."

The Prince slung the weapon onto his back with the thick leather belt the sheath sported. "Sure, pop… er, _dad_…"

Zidane smiled and headed back to the exit, pining for some fresher air.

He left Philippe to his devices, trying to work the sliver of cold out of his constitution. How long has it been?…

"Your Majesty!" Steiner came clanking into view, still in his old silver armour. The former thief was amazed he could still wear it as much as he did. The Pluto Captain kneeled as he came to a stop. "Your Majesty, the Roaming Guard had returned from the plains."

Zidane straightened. "Already?" He nodded to the man. "Alright. Thank you, Steiner. Go and inform them that I will meet with them in the lesser courtyard. I don't need servants seeing what they don't need to."

"Of course." He stood up and saluted, clanking off back down the hall thereafter.

He sighed and followed slowly behind the senior Knight. He didn't expect the Roaming Guard to have returned so early; but, he guessed, it would be better to deal with the problems prowling the plains as soon as possible, rather than to just let them lie and crop up at an even worse time. The reports of grisly animal attacks and odd sightings of unidentified beasts were giving him a great deal of grief. Villages all around the kingdom were complaining about some new breed of wolf or wild dog inhabiting the settled areas. On top of that, there have been multiple reports of missing children. Some claim that there is some sick slave caravan causing trouble; others think it is the fault of the new wolves, attacking the youngsters when no-one is looking.

From what he had heard from his Knights, hysteria had already risen amongst some of the smaller settlements, the folk becoming paranoid and overly superstitious. Some were leaving the country, just because of a pack of wild animals? He had been told that they were apparently huge, nearly man-sized. One account claimed that they were impervious to harm. Others said that they had great whips extending from their backs, capable of lashing a full grown man in half.

The King shook his head. It was crazy.

Or at least, that was what he wanted to think. The safety and wellbeing of his people were always top priority, and all this madness over a large dog would tear the delicate fabric of the kingdom's harmony at the seams. But he wasn't doubting his people's fears. Far from it. After all he'd been through over the past twenty years… he knew that there were things out there the folk had every reason to fear.

He already had one, very crazy, idea of what these new, unidentified beasts could be, but he was pining for anything to prove him wrong. With any luck, this was _only_ a large breed of Fang. If not…

Zidane sighed as he reached the outside.

The Roaming Guard were waiting for him in the lesser yard; he could see that Doctor Tot was already with them, conversing with the men. The Roaming Guard were a recent addition to the Knightly ranks of Alexandria, they were like patrol-men. Those who gained the position were given the tasks of riding Greater Chocobos about the nation in a set pattern, constantly sweeping the nation for any signs of disharmony amongst the folk. They were lightly armed, keeping but short lances and combat knives with them during their duties. The men, four in total in the reporting team, bowed and saluted the King, a fist placed over their hearts, as he advanced. He nodded to them in turn.

A large cart, pulled by two Chocobos and covered by a large cut of cloth, stood silently behind them. The giant birds jittered about nervously before the cart, which was odd behaviour for such trained steeds, as if they were afraid of what was hidden within it.

"Good morning, King Zidane," greeted the short man of science.

"Good morning, Doctor Tot," he greeted back. He turned his attention to the assembled Guard. "You've brought the beast?"

"Yes, your Majesty," answered the leading Guard. "We found it not too far from the cliffs over the Evil Forest, it had been terrorising the caravans there, picking off children. The folk say that it took twelve of their strongest men to destroy it, and that it supposedly only died because one of the more superstitious of their number used a spear of silver on it."

Zidane frowned slightly. "Let me see it."

The elder Guard nodded to the other three, who proceeded to undo the ties that kept the large cloth over the corpse beneath it hidden. The moment the cover was lifted as great stench of death wafted out from the body confined to the cart, making the assembled men shield their faces and the Chocobos to shriek in disgust. Flies had already found a way to the flesh, and were buzzing merrily about the body's surface.

Covering his nose with a kerchief, Zidane edged towards the cart and hoisted himself up onto the crude seat as the Guards stilled their mounts.

The thing was horrible to look upon.

It was a monster in every sense of the word. A long, canine muzzle decorated its angled face, lips pulled back to expose the vicious fangs protruding in every direction from the blood red gums, the dark tongue lolling out on the wood. Matted, black fur coated the thing's form, looking as if it had been bathed in lard. The wolfish ears had been frozen in the pinned state of hatred, the glazed eyes glaring at nothing in death. Zidane was horrified. The doctor climbed up to sit beside him as he continued to examine the beast for any recognition as to what it could be. It was absolutely massive, longer than any of his men were tall. The monster's feet were tipped with huge claws, stained with nameless dark flecks. Its belly was oddly bald, and its back was split open, with long, fleshy, whip-like tendrils tipped with long nails growing out from the cavity. It had no tail.

The King looked over the beast's wounds. There were countless cuts and stabs about the thing's body, some looked almost completely healed, as if they were weeks old. But that couldn't be so. The report on the encounters from the area where the thing had first been encountered were hardly a half week old. There was nothing that could heal so fast. But some of the wounds, not many, were undoubtedly very fresh. The gashes were red and wide, exposing the monster's inner workings, much to the King's disgust. These wounds were accompanied by gross burn marks all about the sheared skin, making it seem as though it had been stabbed by a flaming sword.

"Any guesses up front, King?" questioned Tot, a sizable hankie under his absurdly long nose.

Zidane was silent a moment. "It's not a Fang," he stated. He glared at the corpse. "There's no way this is even a mutant strain of a Fang, its too big. Too different. This is something else entirely."

"Hmm. Well, I can't argue with that," agreed the other. He adjusted his thick glasses. "But it is something, we just have to figure out what." He turned his head to address the lead Guard. "What are these burn marks, soldier?" he questioned.

The man was as straight as a board. "Those are from the silver spear, apparently."

"You're sure it wasn't just fire?" inquired the King.

The man shook his head. "I don't think so, sire. It had been raining when they faced the beast, or so they claim. Even if it wasn't, the wood in that area would have been too wet to burn anyway, thanks to the mist of the falls."

Burn marks from a weapon of silver? Zidane's frown deepened. There was no known monster on Gaia's face that possessed such a weakness. He looked the body over once more before standing and excusing himself, giving the doctor permission to take the corpse under his custody for study.

The Alexandrian King retreated as quickly as possible. He needed to think. That thing was no Fang, any fool could see that, and it sure as Hell wasn't anything _natural_. No creature of Gaia, born of the earth or of the Mist, would look like that. But _what was it?_

His old assumptions came back to the forefront of his mind, mocking him for his self-imposed blindness. Though he didn't even want to entertain the idea, it was still a possibility, albeit the poorest choice if worst truly came to worst.

The ruler made a beeline for the castle library and all its riches of knowledge. He would find out what this new menace was. There was the chance that it could simply be a breed that merely hadn't been encountered for many a year, and could thus be in the ecology tomes kept in the castle's collections.

…And if that didn't yield any results… there was one last place he could always look.

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A/N: Please read and review! Comments, crit, error-pointers and whatnot are more than appreciated! Flames will be used to power my waffle-maker. I'll see you all again in seven days. 


	2. I:i Complications of an Unfriendly Kind

Disclaimers: Zidane and his cohort of oddness all belong to Squaresoft and whatever Enix is.

But everything else, including the heir and the jet of balogne, is mine.

Alright, this is the real beginning. The ball gets rolling now (much earlier than before). Nothing too bad here, so it's all still 'T'-ness. Enjoy.

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PART THE FIRST: FUMES OF THE UNDERWORLD 

_Between the realms of what we see_

_And what we fear_

_There are doors, pathways_

_Beyond these doors and on these paths_

_Are things of a nature_

_Complex and often foul_

_But these doors may be opened_

_The paths discovered_

_And left yawning wide_

_And through these portals_

_With nothing but malice_

_Will come nightmares_

CHAPTER I: COMPLICATIONS OF AN UNFRIENDLY KIND

Zidane reached the library in moments flat, entering and shutting himself inside in a blink. He wanted privacy, should he come across something he wouldn't be prepared to share. There were certain… elements of the recent past that were still raw in the minds of the royal family and their closest friends, and there were certain things, items, words, that could set off an unwanted chain reaction of renewed sores. The King was fully aware of what some of these little things were, and was hence bent on preserving the delicate balance of general sanity in his home.

Closed away in the library, he made his way towards the natural history section of the castle's commendable collection of knowledge. The shelves were wide and housed countless tomes of every size and bind, dating back over many hundreds of years and kept in mint condition under the loving hands of the library staff. Thanks to the fact that the library was under the main floor, most of the records of fiction and non-fiction had survived the attack that had been unleashed upon their city twice within the span of hardly a half month when Bahamut had been summoned against them and Alexander destroyed.

Perusing through the natural history of Gaia, he came across the records the chamber kept of the world's beasts. Grabbing the largest on the shelf first, the former thief browsed through the book's contents in hopes of locating an entry featuring the hideous creature the Roaming Guard had captured on their rounds along the falls that plummeted from the cliff's edge into the petrified Evil Forest.

After over an hour of going through the various entries of carnivores and beasts of the underground, the King came away with nothing even remotely similar to what had been brought before him and the good doctor. Not wanting to have to resort to his nagging idea of possible madness, he replaced the tome and began a long ritual of searching all the other bestiary records the Alexandros family kept for the betterment of their progeny's knowledge. Still, three hours and twelve books later, he found nothing of the kind. Not even supposed extinct species matched what he had seen. Could it just be a new species, perhaps?

He leaned on the shelf, putting the last of the animal records away. He didn't want to take such a chance. If it was something else, other than natural, he wanted to know how to get rid of it. He sighed and headed towards the lesser shelves of what most would consider fiction.

Zidane was not a person who entertained the notions of genocides, but this thing… if it was what he thought it was, he would have it hunted down to the very last figure and obliterated.

Lanterns burned above his head as he migrated towards the very back of the library, where few of even the castle's most dedicated readers frequented. In this shadowed sect of the vast chamber of tomes and science, was the family's limited collection of the occult. Everything from myths to legends to bogus spells and remedies were held here, collecting more than their fair share of dust and decay. With everything that had come to pass over the course of his life, Zidane didn't enjoy being in this one small part of the castle any more than his wife, who hated it. However, it had something he needed this time around, and if what was held here proved his suspicions, he would be able to act on it immediately, though his options would be severely limited in more ways than one.

Bypassing the majority of the books found on these rotting shelves he quickly located and removed the three tomes he needed and swiftly exited to where the air was much fresher. Finding a secluded table in the far back he made himself comfortable and pulled the first of the leather bound books towards him. Lifting the battered cover he prepared himself for another round of text-searching.

Thankfully for him, his current read was abound with woodcut prints of every entry, and he thus, much to his disappointment, found what he had been looking for in mere moments. A crude image of the beast he and Doctor Tot had examined in the cart glared at him from the yellowed pages, teeth bared and tendrils waving. Beneath the image was printed the words, in big, bold type, was 'HUGNESH, WOLVES' SPAWN OF SLOTH.' Cringing slightly, he read the conjoined text.

_- Hugnesh (Wolves__'__ Spawn) -_

_One of humanity__'__s greatest enemies of the Raging Inferno, the Wolves__'__ Spawn is a cursed beast of blackened fur and wicked tooth. It is easily as long as a man is tall and swifter than the four winds. Named __'__Hugnesh__'__ by the nomadic peoples it is a foul spirit of bitterness that can only be vanquished by a weapon of purest silver, as any other wound caused by any other arm will merely heal over instantly. The Hugnesh favours the flesh of the innocent child, and will go to great lengths to attain it._

_This creature can hide seamlessly in wild grass despite its size. A hunter or holy man may pick out the beast with a polished copper plate angled over his shoulder. If the Hugnesh is behind him, then the beast__'__s eyes will be reflected in the plate. It is recommended that a traveler carry with him a quart of Holy Water, as such will burn the monster__'__s flesh and hair like fire, and drive it away. Sprinkling such about one__'__s camp grounds in a perfect circle will also keep the thing at bay, as it cannot stand the reek of the blessed Waters upon the grass._

It was safe to say that the tailed man wasn't happy with his find. Yes, he had wanted to know just what it was his Knights had found, but he had been hoping for something much less than what was laid before him. So, it seemed as though what they had was not indigenous to the land. Was it supernatural? Or simply feared beyond rational thought? Dragons for the longest time had fallen within such a category, thought to be indestructible animals of devilish chaos. But with rational thought and science, it had been proven to be merely just another being with just as many enemies and weaknesses as humanity and otherwise. This 'Hugnesh' could just be that as well.

Best to double check. Putting the book away to the side he brought up another from the small pile he had garnered from the shelves, hoping to get another perspective. Not all of these books were full of nut-talk. He searched the index of the tome, finding and turning to what he needed quickly. Much of the passage repeated what he had just read, but added something different towards the end.

_The dreaded Wolves__'__ Spawn is the product of Man__'__s Slothfulness, the dark hash that is harvested from the bottom of the soul by Uvogis, the Sixth Lord of Man__'__s Sin. The monster scrapes the sludge from the souls he gathers and cooks it until the Wolves__'__ Spawn leaps forth from the brine. It is said that Uvogis uses the beasts to punish the Slothful, having the monsters chase sinners about his kingdom as payment for purity._

_Wolves__'__ Spawn are--_

"Zidane?"

He turned in his seat, looking up into the face of his beloved wife. "Garnet?"

She seemed sad. "Oh, Zidane, I never thought you'd look into these again." She stepped forward and closed the tomes, imprisoning them in her arms. "I should have these destroyed. We don't need things like this to bring back…" Her eyes began to tear up.

The King quickly stood up to comfort his wife. "Shh… No, Garnet. Everything's fine, you don't have to do anything. It's alright." He stroked her hair tenderly.

The Alexandrian Queen began to weep openly, dropping the books to embrace her husband. The leathered volumes fell to the floor with a dull thud. "Oh, Zidane! I don't want to remember it! These books! That painting in the attic! They all bring it back!" She clutched at him. "I just want it to be forgotten!" Keeping a protective arm about her shoulders, Zidane lead her out of the library. He should have waited to search for the books. How foolish could he be? He may not have thought she would have found him reading them, but it was a very delicate subject. Even though the horrors that they had experienced had been nigh twenty full years before now, the wounds it left behind were sorely healed, reopened at the slightest provocation to insurmountable pain.

"Come, love," he said to her. "Let's have some dinner. We'll have a nice, relaxing night to ourselves, hn? How about it?"

The fragile woman peered up at her beloved through watery eyes. "Oh, Zidane! Thank you!" She threw her arms around him, her tears already clearing.

He hugged her back tightly. He would have to get his answers later.

- - -

The sun was slowly edging towards the tree line. In the lesser courtyard the Prince of Alexandria was training with his new sword, the Pluto Captain supervising him and giving him advice.

"Let it move with you, Prince," said the aging man. "The weight of a sword is not just for show. Properly utilised it can add insurmountable power to your strikes."

The brunet heir swung his weapon at the straw dummy target a few more times before breaking away to rest. Planting the point of his weapon into the ground he leaned on it, breathing heavily. Well… white steel was heavy, that at least was as clear as day.

"You need to work on your endurance, Prince," said the elder Knight. He clanked over to stand with him. "This sword is much heavier, denser, than the weapons you've been experimenting with of late. I'd say that a few hours worth of simple practice a day would make it seem like a paperweight to you in hardly a month!" he calculated.

Philippe just panted against his sword. "Hey, Steiner?"

"Yes, your highness?"

"I wanna ask you something."

The old fighter remained as straight as a board. "You may ask me anything, Prince. I hope I may be able to answer your inquiries to your satisfaction."

The youth nearly laughed. Steiner always talked funny. "Do you know anything of an… what was the name… oh! Amarant Coral?"

Steiner wasn't fazed in the slightest. "Ah, the bounty hunter," he said, rubbing his chin.

"Bounty hunter? Is that what he was?" questioned Philippe. "Pop said he was a hero."

"Oh, he was, more or less," confirmed the older of the two. "Never in all my fifty six years of life have I met a more infuriating man. Other than your father, of course," he added jokingly.

The Prince laughed. "Really? What was he like?"

Steiner huffed in thought. "I couldn't really tell you. Your father knows him much better than I."

Philippe nearly frowned. 'Knows' him? His father said he was dead. "Pops said he died some time ago," he commented.

The old Knight straightened by an extra ten degrees. "Ah, that's correct. He did, ah, pass away some eighteen years ago or so." He chuckled uncertainly. "Excuse me, Prince, but I must do my rounds about the grounds." He then exited. Leaving the heir to his devices.

Philippe uprooted his blade and sheathed it inside the heavy scabbard. Steiner was old, so maybe he had just mixed his words. But if this man had died before he had been even born, how could he have been present for when the portrait in the attic had been made, when he was just a babe? He shook his head and started for the castle. The man could have been superimposed or something, from a reference of whatever it was that those artist types used for such things.

- - -

Dinner was oddly quiet. Philippe was tempted to leap on top of the table and start juggling his food it was so gloomy. He stabbed absently at his plat, both elbows on the table.

"Elbows off the table, dear," said the Queen, not looking up from her plate. "Mind your manners."

Though he was eighteen, the Prince had every mind to do the exact opposite, but he did what he was told anyways. He just made a face at his beans instead.

"Let the boy be, hon," broke in Zidane. "He's still a boy."

"But he needs to mind his upbringing," argued Garnet pointedly. "We're going to have guests tomorrow, and I don't want him to be making a fool of himself."

"Oh, psh," replied the King simply in his son's defence, stuffing his face with potatoes.

Philippe merely continued to play with his food, flicking some of the mashed potato fluff across his side of the insanely long table when his parents weren't looking. Not entirely hungry, he kept up with this new activity, trying to see just how far a tiny glob of white stuff could go from his plate.

"Don't play with your food," interjected the Queen eventually.

The Prince pouted and went to eating instead. Maybe he could get some of the Pluto Knights to have a mud fight with him later. That was always fun.

The evening progressed quietly, boringly in the heir's eyes. With the stars high and the plans set for the next day's activities, Zidane laid with his wife in their chambers, reading an old text as Garnet slept soundly beside him. However, the man wasn't really reading, his mind wandering elsewhere. The book was just a disguise to let his beloved sleep without worry.

His thoughts were preoccupied with the limited knowledge of the Hugnesh Wolves' Spawn he had attained earlier. The Doctor hadn't drawn any conclusions besides from his studies of yet. The King had kept his findings to himself, however, in hopes of keeping the Doctor's work as unbiased as possible. He was still hoping that this freak of nature was just some kind of anomaly, but deeper down, he knew better.

There was really only one way to settle his discomforts, and he intended to take care of the matter right away. Zidane peered at the sleeping Queen carefully, making sure that she was completely submerged in the sleeping realm, before removing himself from the massive mattress they shared.

Taking but a single red candle with him exited the royal chambers and headed for the library. He wanted to know why this beast was here, why it was terrorising his people. What if there were more than just the one? If so, than how do they kill it? Such things were never meant to thrive on mortal soil.

Keeping well away from the patrolling Knights, he reached the library as deftly and quickly as he could, giving a precautionary glance about himself before entering to retrieve what he had been forced to leave behind.

- - -

The heir to the Alexandrian throne padded about the kitchens, pining for a late night snack. After a few minutes of searching he finally procured for himself a small amount of cheese. He made a sour face but took the dairy anyway, skulking back up to his chambers before anyone caught him.

He didn't have a candle with him, as previous escapades had landed him in some serious trouble before hand thanks to even such a small light. He kept his ears tuned for any of the Alexandrian Knights. The last thing he needed was to run into one of those warrior women. He swore they took their jobs too seriously, leaping at anything out of place.

Chewing contentedly on his cheese he reached the third level where the guest bedchambers were kept. One more floor, and he would be free sulk in his own room and stare at the ceiling for the rest of the night. He didn't feel like sleeping, and everybody else's weird behaviour towards the mention of that one man's name was starting to get to him. What the heck? It was just a name! Pushing the last ounce of marble dairy mould into his cheeks he caught sight of something flickering down the hall. It looked like a candle. But who would be up at this hour, excluding himself? Doctor Tot? The Knights were up, obviously, but they didn't use the candles, they were trained to work without light.

He stood very still. A figure passed the far end on the hallway, heading for the stairs. Hey, was that… "father?" What was he doing up? Philippe kept quiet and started after him. He rushed, barefoot, across the muffling carpet to the ornate stairs, peering up their length for any signs of the older man. A faint light disappearing overtop the highest step told the curious heir what he wanted. He followed swiftly, utilising the silence of his steps to his advantage. Reaching the top he ducked behind a decorative bust of one of Alexandria's former rulers, watching his old man continue down the hall in near absolute darkness. He squinted in the gloom. Where those books under his arm? Who would go to the library at such a late hour? His puzzlement increased as the King passed the chambers he shared with the Queen and continued forwards.

Philippe started after him a second time, his interests brought to a new high. Where was he going? The library was on the level below the main foyer, and the Doctor was somewhere in the lower reaches studying some kind of freak of nature, from what he'd heard. All that laid beyond the fourth level were the upper storages and the attics. He doubled his pace.

Zidane ascended the stairs to the upper levels silently, not wanting to draw the attention of any patrolling Knights below. The floors above the fourth level of the castle had been shut away some time ago, reduced to storage of the late Queen Brahne's possessions amongst other things. Festive décor and dressings were kept up here as well, alongside the clothes that Garnet no longer wore, but had insisted on keeping for sentimental reasons. The paths to the castle's roofs were still open, but could now only be reached through the base of the leftmost spire, should the need to call upon the city's guardian ever arise again. However, he doubted its use, as the life force of the Eidolon that had protected Alexandria before could no longer be felt through the summoning gem by either Garnet, or Eiko.

He bypassed the fifth level swiftly, working his way up past the sixth and seventh. Every now and again he would stop in his steps, listening. He swore he could feel someone following him, but repeated sweeps of the area around him revealed only nothing. Feh. He was just getting old and paranoid, that's all.

An old, rickety stair was all that lead to the last floor of the attics, the eighth and final floor of the castle. Relocating his candle to his opposite, book-laden hand he fished about in his night pant's pocket, bringing out an old set of rusted, heavy keys.

Philippe, from behind the cover of a sizable pile of old chests, watched his father unlock the old door and step into the shadows beyond the small portal of wood that stood as the floor's only entry. What was this? He had never seen these steps before in all the times he had been in the attics. He licked his lips in excitement. It was a new place to explore at a better time. He knew there had to be something good up there; why else would his father need a key to get in? There was something special up there, he knew it! And he would get to see. Maybe he'd snitch a few antiques for himself if he found any of interest. After all, it was put up there to just collect dust, wasn't it? With the older man out of sight, the Prince slinked his way towards the stairs and ascended the creaking wood as quietly as possible, darting behind the first thing he saw once he passed the doorframe.

A definite atmosphere of must permeated the entire floor, nearly making the heir wrinkle his nose in disgust. On top of that, it was cold. He looked around for a stray coat to cover his shivering form with. His father had disappeared somewhere towards the centre of the room, and finding nothing better to do without his own light, he followed the faint trace of the other's.

The King set the three books and candle down on the small table set in a sizable clearing in the attic's centre. To his left rested what appeared to be a plank of some kind, draped in a great cloth of grey. This was the reason he came up here, this was where he would find his answers. Stepping forward he gripped the concealing cloth and tore it from the surface of what laid beneath it.

Philippe nearly gasped. A mirror, nearly seven feet tall he was sure, stood before his father. Its ornate frame looked as though it were made of purest bronze, with veins of silver, brass, and gold interwoven throughout its make. Expertly shaped figures of what appeared to be malicious beings encircled the frame, grasping and biting at the massive cut of pure, reflective glass that sat in the centre. It was incredibly beautiful, but it somehow alienated the Prince. The cold seemed to deepen, making him rub his arms unconsciously.

Zidane peered into the dark, reflective depths of the giant looking glass with the concealing cloth still in hand, debating over whether or not he was doing the right thing. Yes, he needed answers, but was this one beast really such a cause for alarm? True, there had been several presumed sightings of a similar animal, accompanied by reports of disappearing children, but was it possible that it could merely be the same creature? That the only culprit was now dead? But even then, what if there was the possibility of more? Pups, even? He had to know where these things were coming from, and why they were here. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

The looking glass seemed to just eat up the meagre light around it, making the small clearing seem much darker than the Prince was sure it had been before. Just what was it his father was doing? He shifted from on foot to the next on the floor, watching with genuine interest. There was something up, he could feel it.

His mind set, the ruler took up at the small candle in his right hand, holding it out before the mirror. How the thing intimidated him. Forcing back a shudder, he recited a string of alien words, keeping his gaze locked on the reflective glass as he had been directed by another of greater authority then he.

"_Legna fo ssenkrad_

_Raeh ym aelp._

_Morf eht stip fo laffo I llac eeht htrof_

_Ot nethgilne em fo eht srorret woleb._

_Os rewsna em, Legna_

_Emoc ot em._

_Erahs htiw em eniht modsiw_

_Os taht I yam esrevart eht wodahs_

_Sa llew sa eeht.__"_

Forcing the last syllable out from behind clenched teeth he forcefully whipped the candle, splashing wax about the mirror's surface. He held the candle steady before him, the tiny flame flickering absently.

What the Hell just happened? Philippe was confused. A whispering hiss sounded from nowhere, sending an even greater chill throughout the attic. The single candle went out. In the enveloping darkness a faint howl of wind rose from… the mirror?

Zidane stood stock still in the whining rush, fighting the chill. The glass before him darkened impossibly, and a deep, foreboding ring of scarlet light grew around his feet. The drops of candle wax were suddenly sucked into the mirror, the surface rippling like silver water. He remained where he was, determined to show no fear before what he knew was coming. The swirling surface of the looking glass turned a violent shade of red, rapidly devouring itself in a crazed vortex. The precious gems set about the mirror's frame were glittering menacingly in the nonexistent light, emanating an aura most foul.

The whole attic was shaking and groaning with abused wood. Philippe was clutching at the forgotten trunks and chests littered about him in hopes of not being found, or sucked into the vortex that seemed to have opened in the mirror. His father took a long step back from the face of the mirror as a hideous sucking noise sounded from the swirling red glass. A jet of what looked to be pulverised meat shot from the centre of the scarlet whirlpool, spraying everywhere yet touching nothing. A great wave of stench wafted across the attic, engulfing everything in an oppressive blanket of decaying reek. As soon as it had come the jet disappeared. In its place was the most horrifying thing the youth had seen in all his years. Trapped inside the vortex within the mirror was a half a figure, gripping at the frame for support. It appeared to be made entirely of the fleshy sludge that had just been jettisoned from the looking glass, but much, much paler, dribbling all about the floor in an indescribable mess. Long, thick strings of red meat hung about what the Prince was sure to be the 'head', framing a rather long face with a pointed nose. The sight made him sick.

The mass of amorphous red and pale meat blubbered and took a heavy breath of the stagnant air. Zidane kept his poise. "Hrrmm…" gurgled the thing in the mirror, the vortex still spinning around its waist, obscuring its lower half. "Keh. What do you want, Tribal?" it questioned with a meaty voice. "Do you have any idea of what _time_ it is?"

The Prince was appalled. How did this… this _thing_ know his father's name? What was it? A demon? A monster? An apparition? Fear clouded his mind with a fervour he wasn't at all accustomed to. Just seeing… _hearing_ that freak talk was more than he could take. His stomach doing ridiculous summersaults unlike any performer he had ever witnessed, he bade a hasty retreat, not wanting to take part as even just an observer any longer. Remaining silent under the bubbling of the sickening vortex he dashed for the open door of the attic and raced to his own chambers.

The King smirked, relaxing his stance to put his hands on his hips. "Well, it's nice to see you, too," he commented with a cocky grin.

The thing in the mirror scoffed at him. "Sure, fine, nice to see you, monkey. Now, care to enlighten me as to why you have deemed it oh-so imperative to drag me here at such an hour? Its four in the morning here! I only get so much sleep, you know. And it's what? Only twelve on your end? Eleven, perhaps?"

"Maybe if you stop complaining I can tell you why I called you when I did," said the King pointedly.

The meaty figure glared at him with green, bleeding orbs. "Don't test my patience, Tribal. I have very little of it; and you know it. Spit it out. I can get in trouble if I'm caught talking to you, you know that."

"I know, I know…" consented the ruler, putting up his hands placidly. He knew that there was a fair amount to be risked when trying to connect with the sick creature before him, but, on rare occasions, it had to be done. This was one of those times that simply called for such measures. He had to know about those beasts terrorising the countryside. He reached over and grabbed one of the old books from the library, flipping it open to a thinning page with the same woodcut image he had found earlier. He showed it to the man in the mirror. "This," he said, tapping the picture, "is why I rang you up."

The thing was silent, staring at the image.

After a few moments of absolute quiet, the Alexandrian King broke the silence. "That fact that you're so quiet tells me that this is very bad. I assume you know what it is?"

"Hugnesh. How do you know of it?" questioned the apparition.

He lowered and closed the book. "We happen to have a dead one in the catacombs. Doctor Tot is examining it. The Roaming Guard brought it in just this morning. It attacked a travelling caravan, killing several children before it finally went down, apparently." He regarded the being in the looking glass. "Now, I'm sure that a thing like that isn't supposed to _be_ here…"

"No," said the thing, shaking its head. "No, it shouldn't. Are there more?"

"We don't know. The one we have could be the only one, or there could be others." He paused. "But what I would like to know is why and how it got here," he stated urgently. "You said so yourself that it shouldn't be here."

The visitor was quiet, stroking its chin. "You don't need to know… where it came from. But as to how…" It shook it head. "I can't tell you."

Zidane frowned. "Are you just saying that because of your supposed '_laws_', or do you actually not know?"

"Both," the other replied evenly.

- - -

Philippe was feeling sick. He wobbled back to his chambers, the cheese he had eaten but moments before fighting against his ebbing willpower to spew all over the red carpets about the floor. Gagging slightly he stumbled into his bedchambers, closing the door hurriedly to block away the lingering cold, and horror, of what he had just witnessed. What the hell did his father do? Summon some kind of lost Eidolon? Converse with the corpse of some philosopher? It was mind-boggling, and he wanted very much to forget the experience.

His stomach settling slowly, he pushed himself from his door and flopped into his vastly oversized bed. Within seconds, he was lost to sleep.

- - -

"You realise that this could be a considerably much _larger_ problem than what I've told you, I assume?"

The sick thing in the mirror gurgled angrily at the King. "Do you think I'm not saying anything out of spite, Tribal?" it sneered. "To be quite honest, I don't know how or why those animals got loose. Their trainer usually keeps a much better eye on such things."

"Uvogis?" he questioned, remembering the ugly name from the ancient texts.

It regarded the ruler quietly. "Yes… How do you know that name?" it questioned back, looking suspicious.

"Don't look at me like that," he quipped. "It was in one of the books. It read, and I quote '_Wolves__'__ Spawn is the product of Man__'__s Slothfulness, the dark hash that is harvested from the bottom of the soul by Uvogis, the Sixth Lord of Man__'__s Sin_'. Care to elaborate?"

"You don't need to know what will hurt you, Zidane."

He frowned. "What does that mean?"

"You're intelligent, draw your own conclusions."

"I'd go on a limb and say you were being sarcastic, but you always sound like that," he huffed. "You're a sadist."

The visitor just grinned. "Good night, Zidane," it said simply, the vortex picking up speed behind it.

The King gasped. "Wait! You can't go! You haven't told me anything! At least tell me how it got here! Please!"

"Honestly, Tribal," sighed the thing in exasperation. "Don't assume that everything bad that happens to your side of things is our fault. There are those amongst you that pose more of a threat to your existence than us. We have better things to do, but some folks just have too much time on their hands."

"What are you talking about?" demanded the Alexandrian King.

It cocked its head to the side, as if in contemplation of what best to say. "Thieves, Zidane… Maniacs of the like you would not believe."

"Wait. If there's more than one, what can we do?" he questioned hurriedly.

"There is no 'we', Zidane," corrected the thing almost venomously.

The King didn't raise to the bait. "I need to know how to kill it if more show up. I need to protect my people!"

"Why?" inquired the summoned figure. "Why must you know? Most, if not all, of these folk will face them eventually, it's only a matter of time, and dare I say, sin." It sneered at the blond's angry expression at its remark. "Before asking me such me such inane questions, Tribal, consider how your 'specimen' was brought down in the first place."

Zidane fought to keep his temper in check. No matter how much time had past, the creature never failed to aggravate him to no end. He didn't like the flippant way it spoke to him, though in a sense, it had the position to do so. "The Roaming Guard claimed that a nomad slew it with a silver spear. Apparently, nothing else would work on it."

Its grin widened. "There. You have your answer if you meet more," it said simply.

"You can't be serious!" he exclaimed in the dark. "Do you have any idea of how rare silver has become since Gizamaluke's Grotto has collapsed? The cavern supplied nearly all of the continent's silver before the beast inside went ballistic!"

"Then melt your candelabras. Shields. Coins," it suggested with an exasperated huff.

"That would take too long! Is there any other way?"

"What do you think?" it questioned with a scowl. "The Hugnesh was made to be indestructible by 'normal' standards. Until the problem with their release is cleared up, I say you should stop whining about the expenses of silver and get your ass in gear. You should be ready for anything."

The Alexandrian King peered at the being carefully. "Why do you say that?" he inquired softly. "Are you implying that this… may not be it?"

It sighed. "There is always the chance, Tribal, that something stronger may have followed the Spawn out. But I could be wrong."

"Don't you keep better track of these things?" he interrogated loudly, nearly yelling.

The visitor scowled evilly at him, growling with an air of menace. "Don't you _dare_ speak to me that way, Tribal. It is physically impossible for us to keep tabs on every lesser being here; and there is only so much we can do if they go missing. There is just too much resource waste involved in going on what usually turns out to be a wild goose-chase. Either way, you're going to have to deal with it for now."

"At least tell me you won't do nothing."

"I can only do so much. I will speak to my peers, but what you're up against isn't in my field, so it will have to be taken care of by whoever is responsible for what is missing." It paused and grumbled. "Time's up."

With a harsh sucking noise the figure vanished back into the red whirlpool from which it had been summoned. The red ring of light vanished and the vortex slowly stilled, reverting back to its former solid form of the face of a looking glass. With a hush the tiny candle that had initiated the meeting relit, its tiny flame flickering dimly.

Zidane just stood there, working hard to resist the urge to immediately try to bring the creature back. But he already knew, from experience, that more than one summon in a row would result in a messy spray of various foul things in protest.

He had been left with more questions than he had started with, and even fewer answers. Dammit, he had called the other to clear things up, not make a mess of what little he had managed to learn! He sighed in exasperated defeat.

What he needed was rest. He felt thoroughly drained. With another sigh he retrieved the candle and left the books where they were, making sure to cover the mirror and lock the door of the attic as he left. The last thing he needed was somebody else discovering what he had been hiding there as a favour to an old friend.

* * *

A/N: I apologise for the gyser of meat. I was watching a Mythbusters revisit of the confederate meat rocket, and all the jet-powered rocket salami infected my mind with sandwich-meat goodness. That's my excuse. Please R&R, flames will be used to burn my old text books. With a vengeance. I'll see you all again in fourteen days with Chapter II of Part I. 


	3. I:ii Steady Gait Downwards

Disclaimers: Zidane and his posse all belong to Squaresoft and its conjoined twin Enix.

But everything else is mine.

Things start picking up now, but the content is still fairly tame as of yet (keep your shorts on! The good stuff is coming!). Please read and review! I'd very much like to know what you think!

* * *

CHAPTER II: STEADY GAIT DOWNWARDS 

Philippe woke up sprawled across the width of his mattress, his normally stylish hair in total disarray. Good news was that he had managed to keep the cheese he had eaten the night before in his stomach. But his head hurt, though.

He flopped over with a groan, rubbing his forehead. Dark flashes of what he had witnessed in the attics flickered for a split second before his mind's eye. He thought, forcing away a cold sweat. Had it been real? Or had it been a dream? It felt so unreal now that it was morning. There was no way that could have happened.

It had to have been a dream.

But the ghastly images; the vortex of red… the spew of meat… the hideous figure… It all glared out at him without mercy, making him want to take cover in his closet and stay there. Anything to just make it all… go… away.

"Your Highness?"

He sat up hurriedly, nearly tumbling off the mattress. "Wh-what?" he called out.

The maid in the hall didn't enter. "Is your Highness ready for breakfast? The tables will be set within the half hour," she informed him.

"Oh. Ah, I-I'll be right out!" he answered, jumping off his bed to search his floor and dresser for clothing.

The soft footfalls of the maid told him she was leaving.

After a few moments of fighting with his pants Philippe was fully dressed and ready to head to the main level to eat with his parents. If he didn't hurry, the table would be cleared and he'd have to either wait until lunch to forage the kitchens when nobody was looking.

Charging out from his chambers he nearly fell down the last flight of steps to the dining hall, reaching the absurdly long feasting table in what he was sure to be record time. Huffing like a marathon runner he leaned on the end chair of the table, blinking uncertainly at the new figure sitting with his parents and the doctor.

A pair of glowing yellow eyes shone from under a tall pointed hat. The owner of the fiery gaze nodded and tipped his hat to him with a clawed, black hand.

The Prince instantly lit up. "Vivi!" He ran up to the black mage.

The guest rose from his seat as the heir came running towards him. The two exchanged a friendly embrace. The black mage, over six feet tall, pulled the younger being away to get a better look at him from over his feathered coat collar. "Well, now, look at you!" he commented. "Growing like a weed in June! It's good to see you, Philippe!"

"It's great to have you here, Master Orunitia!" He leaned in for confidentiality. "Can you teach me some magic techniques?" he asked in a hopeful hiss.

Vivi grinned.

"Don't bother our guest, Philippe!" interjected the father. "Vivi's here to enjoy himself, not waste his free time trying to teach you tricks."

The mage chuckled. "We'll see, Prince," he said with a confidential wink of an eye.

"Well," broke in Zidane, standing as well, "all that can happen later. You can stay and eat, Philippe, and help your mother with the preparations, while Master Orunitia and I have a relaxing walk in the courtyard."

The Prince gawped. "What? Shouldn't you be helping mom too?"

Zidane grinned. "You know your mother doesn't agree with my tastes in décor. Besides, you two make a great team. You'll be done in no time." With his son grumbling and eating his breakfast as quickly as possible, and his wife smiling to herself at the back, the King lead the world renowned magic user from the dining chambers to the outside green.

Vivi kept an easy stride, mostly to keep the shorter King from having to jog to keep up. He had grown incredibly fast after his fifteenth year, and matured even faster. The stammer of his youth was all but completely gone, surfacing only every now and then. With his advance in age came also an increase of power. He was reputed all across Gaia for his wisdom in the arcane, and few could even begin to rival his skills with a staff. Admittedly, no-one thought he would had lived to such a ripe age. What no-one saw coming was his incredible transformation. In essence, with all of his advances in strength and ability, Vivi Orunitia had become a Black Waltz. However, as great as his arcane prowess was, he didn't share the single-minded determination towards destruction the Waltz before him had been so hard-wired to. He was still the gentle-hearted creature he had been the first day Zidane had met him.

"Ah, it's good to see you, Vivi," sighed the King as they entered the gardens behind the castle.

"Likewise, Zidane," returned the mage, walking in time with his staff. "I trust things are going well in Alexandria? We don't get much news in the Village."

The King looked momentarily at the ground. "There have been a few complications of late, but nothing serious. Or so we hope, anyway."

"Hmm."

"And how about you? How are the young mages?" he asked, hoping to keep the tone as light as possible.

Vivi didn't immediately answer, the glow in his eyes dimming. "Unfortunately…" he said. "Things are not going as smoothly as they have been." The King was silent. "The Village is in an uproar."

"What? Why?"

The mage gripped the collar of his iridescent leather coat with his gnarled left hand. "There have been several… attacks around the forest of late; several of the less experienced mages have been killed as a result."

Zidane was shocked. "Who was it? Do you know?"

Vivi closed his eyes for a moment. "It's not so much the 'who' as the 'what', actually. For the longest time we had no idea. Those who would go to the Dwarven village for trade and supplies would come across their own comrades, torn to literal pieces on the paths." He shook his head. "No-one knew what to do. We made a curfew in hopes of keeping the accidents to a minimum, as we were still not sure what we were facing. Though… we did find out eventually…" He paused, as if to prepare himself for what he was about to say. The former thief listened intently, hoping.

"It came into the Village without warning. Two of the older members of the synthesis shop came running out from the woods, shouting at the top of their lungs. At first, everything was as if it were frozen. No-one moved. Then it came, thundering after them. My God, Zidane; you would never have thought that something so horrible could exist." He stopped to stifle a shudder. "Whatever the bastard was it took everything we threw at it without pause, smashing everything it could reach. So many mages lost their lives… three of my own among them… before it finally went down." He covered his eyes with a clawed hand. "It levelled half of Black Mage Village in one rampage!"

They stopped on the paths. Ziadne gripped his friend's arm in reassurance. "I'm sorry, Vivi…" he apologised. "I didn't know…"

"It's alright… it's alright…"

"Do you know… what that thing was?" he asked carefully.

"I couldn't tell you…" He sighed and searched his brain. "It seemed to absorb every spell we threw at it. The thing was _huge_, at least fifty feet tall. It looked as though it was made out of recycled _meat_. It wasn't until the Genomes lured it towards the wreckage of the Chocobo pen did we finally kill it. We were able to knock the monster over from behind. It fell onto the pen and impaled itself upon the windmill. It decomposed into nothing but sludge afterwards."

"…Are there any more?"

"Not as far as we know," he said quietly. "But the wood around the Village is large, and we've increased the power of the protective shield. But we haven't seen any signs of other monsters like it since."

Zidane nodded numbly. His mind drifted back to the conversation he had the night before with his 'old friend'. _There is always the chance, Tribal, that something stronger may have followed the Spawn out_. Great. First mutant wolves, and now deli monsters. He stopped himself before the phrase 'how could it get any worse?' entered his head. Best not to tempt Fate, hn?

"And what of your country?" questioned the mage. "I've caught wind that some strange things have been happening on your end?"

The King was taken slightly aback. "Well… there have been… odd sightings, let's say, of some unnatural creatures of late. And the recent reports of animal attacks haven't been helping in the slightest. People screaming about giant wolves." The two of them continued through the gardens. "For a while I thought that it was just a pack of large Fangs that had somehow climbed the cliffs…" Vivi was listening in intent silence. "But unfortunately, that didn't turn out to be the case. The Roaming Guard managed to kill one of these 'giant wolves' out by the falls, where it had been preying on a local nomad caravan. I can only say that once I finally saw it I didn't think I could bear to eat meat again."

"Hmm. Sounds to me that we're not the only ones suffering from an unwarranted dose of violence," mused the mage. "Do you know where your harassers came from?"

He shook his head. "Not in the slightest," he lied.

The arcane guest peered at him from the corner of his glowing eye. "Though… you have an idea… don't you, Zidane?" he questioned quietly.

The thief went stiff. "…Perhaps."

"You spoke to him… didn't you?" It was more a statement than a question.

Zidane was silent.

Vivi sighed in exasperation. "Zidane, you know how much of a risk it is to--"

"I had to know!" he cut in. "I did everything I could to learn about the menace beforehand. It wasn't in the natural bestiary tomes, and there was close to nothing in the cryptozoology texts. I didn't know what else to do, Vivi. I needed to know how to defend my people."

Master Orunitia had a pained expression hidden amongst the shadows of his hat and coat. "Zidane, you mustn't take offence. I am merely concerned for your wellbeing, and that of your family as well. Your family is like my own, and just as close to my heart." He paused, taking in the other's stoic expression. "I know you miss the man very much, Zidane… but what you're doing is unhealthy." Another pause. "I'd go as far to say that… you need to let him go…"

"You mean forget? Like everyone else?" he quipped.

"I didn't say that."

"Then what are you saying?"

"That you should let your connections to him drop. It would be best for you."

Zidane smirked unhealthily. "Best for me? It seems very much to me that I'm the only one who is actually trying to remember him. No-one even says his name anymore…"

- - -

The tables were set and the chefs were taking care of the food. The Prince, thoroughly exhausted, bade a hasty retreat from his mother's side, hoping for a few moments reprieve from her chores.

He took cover behind a column of marble, catching his breath.

"Hiding from your mother?"

He spun around. His gaze met that of the aging mage's.

"Did I startle you, Prince?" he inquired.

Philippe quickly got to his feet. "Naw. Just trying to catch a few spare breaths. Mom doesn't realise it, but she can be a real task-master."

"Don't you tell her that," said his father, coming into view from behind the magic user. "I'm going to go speak with the chefs. You two can go about whatever it was you planned at the table. But, Philippe," he cautioned. "Try not to tire Vivi out."

The tailed brunet just waved him off. "I'll be nice," he assured him.

Vivi just laughed as Zidane went on his way. "Well, then. I suppose you still want to have those lessons, hmm?"

"You bet!" he affirmed. "Will I need a weapon?"

The mage scratched his invisible chin. "I would say so… spells are more difficult to cast for warriors… but if you have a good sword, we should be able to put it to use as a material link."

"Father gave me this new blade from the attics," he told the mage. "He said it was made of pure White Steel. Would that work?"

Vivi was stunned. "White Steel? Ooh, that's a very rare material, Prince. I have no doubts that such an instrument would prove to be an excellent link. Why don't you go get it, and I'll wait for you in the courtyards?" he suggested.

The Prince nodded and dashed to his chambers, eager to learn at the side of Gaia's most renowned magic user.

He ran from the grand hall to the fourth floor and entered the outside in minutes flat, the adrenaline of pure excitement coursing through his veins like fire. He stifled the urge to squeal.

"Now, first I'll teach you the basics. You can't start anywhere else," introduced the mage. He held up his right hand, making the airspace about his palm gleam with the presence of polar ice. A sizable gem of crystalline cold formed in the airspace above his open hand. "The power of ice, Philippe, is one of the fundamentals of arcane studies. Amongst it are the powers of fire and lightning. These three elements are what make the all-important base of a magic-user's arsenal. Without them, a mage cannot advance." He clenched his hand shut, making the ice shatter. "Unsheath your sword," he directed.

Philippe removed the blade from its scabbard, every nerve in his body on edge.

Vivi took a few steps away from him. With a wave of his hand a spear of white ice shot from the surface of the grass. "Ice, Philippe, is by nature a defensive element. It's purpose is to deter foes, but it can also be lethal. The best use of ice is in the crafting of walls, to shield yourself from assault. In order to control and command the power of ice, you must be steadfast and immobile, like the polar cold." The wall grew suddenly, reaching high into the air. "You have to be able to shut everything away, and repress your emotions. Through the chill of your own heart and mind will come the essence of ice, and it is through that essence that you will wield it."

Philippe nodded slowly in understanding.

Vivi waved his hand and the pristine wall shattered. He turned the palm of his right hand to the sky, making a ball of orange flame appear. "Fire, is the brother of ice," he said. "But unlike ice, fire is made for lethality, and has driven more than enough would-be magic users to an early grave. As ice is dependant on the user's ability to stem and lock their emotions, the power of the flame is fuelled by the impassioned feelings of a mage. But like emotions, without proper discipline and control, fire can destroy what had brought it into being." He extinguished the flame.

The Prince's mind was whirling at a thousand miles a minute.

The mage moved his hand in a wide arc, causing a trail of crackling violet energy to follow after. "Lighting, is the sister of fire, and is the last of the founding arcane elements. It has many uses, and is the most difficult to control out of the three. For a mage to command lightning, they must be in complete control of themselves. The power of lightning can only be utilised when the wielder is at peace with themselves. Only if this is done will such energies come willingly to your beck and call. If a user is not completely confident in their ability to control this element, then it will slip from their grasp and turn on any that are near, including the mage that had requested its aid."

Philippe was enthralled.

"So you see, Prince," he concluded. "Magic is not something to be trifled with. It takes strength of the body and spirit to command the ethereal powers of the elements. But in turn, the wielder must give something back. Tell me, Philippe, what can happen when a mage casts a spell?"

The brunet heir thought carefully, double-checking his answer. "Er, every spell cast drains the user of power. Or… the spell may be forgotten?"

Vivi nodded. "Correct. In most cases, a summoner of magic will only feel a decrease in their stamina. Some will forget the incantation they just used, and must relearn it in order to use it again. However," he cautioned, "there are some rare cases where a mage will die from casting a spell, but this only happens if a caster continues to summon the elements even after they are without stamina. At this stage the ethereal forces of a spell will physically eat away at your body, and will leave nothing behind."

The tailed Prince felt a small trickle of sweat worm down the back of his shirt. He had no idea that using magic could be so destructive to even the caster.

"But you should have nothing to fear, Prince," assured the master mage. "Only truly foolhardy mages would go so far, and even then, only an above-average caster can possibly even stay awake after depleting their stamina, let alone cast even more spells."

He nodded, but wasn't entirely comforted.

"Alright. Let's start." Vivi walked up to the Prince, his left hand bent against his body. "Now, get into your fighting stance," he said. The Prince did so. "We're going to start with ice. You're least likely to hurt yourself or anyone around you with this element if something happens to go wrong. So, ice requires what to come into being?" he questioned.

"Ah… Control of… your emotions?" he tried.

"Good! You learn quickly. That's exactly right. And in order to do that, you must repress all emotional input. That in turn will allow the ice within yourself to grow, and if you're steady enough, you can grasp that innermost cold, and use it to summon material cold to you and utilise it. Focus through your sword. It will serve as your material link. All mages require a link to tap into the powers of the elements. But once you become advanced enough, you may be able to summon your magic without it. …Though I don't recommend that," he added. "Close your eyes."

Philippe did as he was told.

"Good, now push all of your emotions from your mind. Make sure there is nothing left. You are a cold wall of stone."

He concentrated, griping his sword fiercely.

"Think of nothing. Don't think of where you are, or where you have been. Don't think about your parents, your friends. Clear your mind."

His brow furrowed. Clearing the mind was easier said than done.

The black mage was watching him carefully. "Keep your mind clear. You should be feeling a chill."

He nodded. There was something forming in the pit of his stomach.

The mage was surprised. It was very rare that anyone could feel the essence of even the most rudimentary elements on their first try. But whether or not the boy would be able to actually use it, remained to be seen. "Good," he said. "Now focus on that cold; only the cold. It is all that matters. It is the only thing in your world."

The lump was growing; and it was colder than the winds blowing from the mountaintops. It chilled him to the very core.

"Hold onto that feeling, Philippe. Drag it out. Focus it."

The hilt of his sword was growing impossibly cold.

Vivi could see frost forming on the edges of the Prince's blade. "Good, Philippe, keep going! Focus on the cold. Focus."

The brunet tailed Prince could hardly hold onto the blade anymore, it was so cold. He grit his teeth, determined to complete this lesson with flying colours. He willed the cold to submit to him, to conform to his will. Gah! The sword was so cold! He felt as though his fingers were going to turn to brittle ice themselves. Still the chill grew. He could hardly feel anything. With a gasp he dropped his weapon. In an instant the cold vanished. He took several deep breaths.

"You lost your concentration," the mage admonished slightly. The Prince looked up at the older creature. Vivi smiled. "Don't worry, Prince. You did very well. Most apprentices don't even make it that far after even a week of studying." He gave him a pat on the back with his good hand. "Magic is by no means an easy force to learn, let alone master. Even I'm still learning," he confessed.

Philippe felt considerably better. He retrieved his blade.

"That will be enough for today." He held up a hand at the other's shocked expression. "Magic is a powerful thing, even at this stage. It will drain you completely and maybe even do serious damage to your body if you don't pace yourself. Besides, if I push you too hard I'll never hear the end of it," he laughed.

The youth laughed with him, sheathing his sword. Though he wanted to keep going, he respected the older being, and knew that he was right. He turned to face the mage. "Thanks, Vivi."

"Ah, no need, Prince." He laughed again. "It's a fair amount of fun, I dare say, to teach another the ways of the arcane." he gripped his staff, still keeping his left limb against his torso.

Philippe thought for a moment. He had always known that the black mage had a bad hand, but he had never found out how it became that way. Was it the aftermath of a great magical duel? Or maybe he had given it up to attain a spell of immeasurable power? "Say… Vivi?"

"Hmm?"

"If you don't mind me asking," he started carefully, not wanting to accidentally tread on a nerve, "how did you loose your hand?"

The mage didn't say anything at first. "My hand…" He lifted the gnarled appendage slightly to peer at it. "I broke my wrist, some time ago… It was never properly set. It aches every once in a while," he said softly.

"From weather?"

"No…" He looked at the ground, his gaze distant. "Fire… and brimstone…"

Philippe squinted at him. "Fire and what?"

The mage suddenly straightened. "Hmm? Oh, nothing, just the ramblings of a mage…" He looked flustered. "Ah, let's go back inside. I'm sure that the others will be arriving shortly." He motioned with his staff and started for the castle.

Giving a long glance to the noon sky, the Prince followed.

- - -

Zidane power walked through the edifice that was the Alexandria Castle, making sure that everything was in order. The guest rooms had been prepared and the dining table had already been set for the feast to come. He did a mental check in his mind, going over everything his wife hadn't taken care of herself.

A whisper sounded from his right. He stopped to look around.

He was the only person in the hall. He searched the great marble columns. Was there someone here with him? Was maybe a Pluto Knight flirting with an Alexandria Knight? Again?

The King listened to his surroundings intently, but still nothing met his ears. The pillared hall was silent.

Shrugging, he continued on his way.

The whisper sounded again, but closer.

Zidane froze, not turning. He listened, his brow creasing. Was there someone behind him? He could feel… something… watching him. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end but he couldn't do anything about it. He peered behind him a second time.

Still nothing but himself occupied the hall.

Considerably more unnerved now, he restarted his trek for the grand hall, where he would be able to greet his guests. He had hardly gone ten steps when the hiss came yet again, from directly behind him. He stopped instantly and spun around, sweating cold bullets. Nothing. He couldn't understand it. Was he going crazy? "Hello?" he called out in desperation, hoping that someone would answer him.

Unfortunately, there was no answer.

The feeling of being watched still plagued him as he scanned the pillars for the third time. The invisible gaze, if a gaze it was, felt nothing short of malicious. He swore he could almost feel some form of separate, alien compulsion to harm another, focussed squarely on him.

Wanting nothing more than to attain peace of mind in the presence of his family, he bade a hasty retreat back into the main halls.

He reached the foyer in good time, but the feeling of being watched by a harmful force never left him, though it seemed to have dimmed considerably. He huffed on the red carpets, trying to regain his breath and slow his heartbeat. He didn't need this. He was getting paranoid, jumpy; nothing more.

The tailed King tried to focus on other things for the sake of preserving his nerves. It was after two now, so the rest of the guests should be arriving at any moment. He was eager to see the others; they had all kept contact over the years since Kuja's fall. There was no way they would ever forget what they had all been through together. He smiled to himself, forgetting about the malevolent stare he seemed to be receiving from the shadows behind him.

- - -

When it came to dinner parties, Garnet was nothing short of a perfectionist. Everything had to be just right; every portrait angled just so, every guest bed fluffed to its fullest, every gravy given the perfect amount of flavour. When she wanted something done a certain way there was nobody and nothing that could stand in her way; usually because nobody and nothing ever dared to.

But now, after several hours of toil and scrutiny, the castle was perfect. The food would be ready by seven and the entire edifice was in shipshape. She clasped her hands and exited the dining area, much to the relief of the maids, to greet the coming guests alongside her husband. It had been so long since the Alexandria castle last saw visitors. The event would bring a welcome change to the place, a lingering glow of company and friendship.

She glided her way through the walkways to the foyer. She reached the castle's main entrance to find her beloved husband waiting there for her, giving her a bright smile as she came to stand with him.

The Queen had arrived not a moment too soon. Once the two Alexandrian rulers were at the doors the great portals of wood and bolted metal swung easily open by way of the Pluto Knights stationed at its front, admitting a trio of figures.

"Zidane! Garnet!" greeted the tall, blue haired woman at the front of the small group, gliding forward in her own gown of sunshine yellow to embrace both the rulers in turn.

"Eiko, it's good to see you!" replied Garnet, returning the hug in her gossamer dressings.

"You've grown a fair bit since we last saw you," commented Zidane as he likewise returned the gesture.

Regent Cid, with his wife Hilda's arm in his own, greeted the King and Queen with great enthusiasm, each exchanging smiles, handshakes, and embraces.

Hardly seconds afterwards, a small party of Burmecians ascended the steps of the castle, four in all. The Burmecian King, his growing heir, and two Dragon Knights filed into the foyer. Zidane shook the paw-like hands of the King, Prince Puck, and the renowned Frately Irontail with a bright smile and hearty greeting. Garnet embraced the lady Knight, Freya Irontail, and Eiko did the same. "Freya, it's been so long!" the Queen greeted, giving her a happy look.

The male Knight nodded. "True, it has been a long while since our last visit, hasn't it, dear?"

Freya nodded and smiled. "Very much so. I'm glad we are all together again." She did not greet the Alexandrian King, who did not so much as look at her.

Entering from the side hall came the black mage and the tailed Prince, as well as Doctor Tot, who quickly joined in with the joyous greetings.

With all met and happy the throng of rulers and heroes migrated to the dining hall, where the table had been set with lavish dishes of silver covered with glistening meats and succulent green. Zidane and his Queen both sat the table's very end, their chairs tall and cushioned with red velvet. Knights of both the Pluto and Alexandria ranks stood at attention at the hall's edges, keeping motionless and alert for any signs of trouble.

The royal couple and their guests ate with gusto in the happy atmosphere, sharing tales of bygone endeavours and triumphs over trivial ignorance. All wore faces of content and enjoyment.

However, the gaze of the Alexandrian King wandered frequently over the vast marble hall of the dining chamber. The feeling of being watched from the near shadows had crept upon him again. The gaze, invisible to his sight, was just as malicious, if not more so, than before. He scanned every inch of the dining hall from his seat of station, hoping to find a shade out of place to indicate the location of his unseen harasser. And what of the Knights? Could they not see anything was amiss? He tried to focus on other things. The tailed man commented on the Regent's latest innovation in airship development.

The banter arose to new levels, questions and answers being thrown this way and that. As much as he wanted to ignore it, Zidane could not shake the hostile stare. In the brief moment he had found reprieve with the Regent of Lindblum, it seemed as though the source of the gaze had somehow gotten closer. He peered about carefully as he took a slow sip of his wine; but still he could find nothing out of place. Had maybe the beast they had caught the day before gotten loose? No… it was dead.

A light, almost inaudible whisper sounded from behind the seat of the Queen. He quickly pinned his sharp eyes to the sound's source. The back of his wife's seat was bare.

He reverted his attention to catch an inquiry from the blue haired Summoner. His collar felt hot; he resisted the urge to pull at it. The gaze was so strong… An alien breath alighted against his ear. He whirled around in his seat, trying hopelessly to at least see what was tormenting him so.

"Zidane?" questioned Garnet, placing a soft hand over his. "Is there something wrong?"

He turned back around, replacing the wide smile that always graced his face. "Just a fly, dear. Nothing's wro--" He nearly pitched forward as what felt like an iron fist drove into his stomach. He gagged and clutched at his chair. He suddenly felt so alone… so angry… so bitter…

"Zidane!" cried the Queen, standing abruptly. Everyone present was speechless, glued to their seats in shock. She gripped him about the shoulders. "Zidane, what's wrong!"

The King pitched backwards against his chair, howling at the white ceiling. He writhed against the furniture, trying to fight off the oppressive heat that was boring into him below his ribs. The invisible glare could still be felt, stronger than ever before, and just as foul. His wife was screaming something at him, shaking him by the shoulder, but he couldn't hear her.

Philippe was white under his formal dressings. What… what was happening to his father? He felt sick all over again, the same, gross feeling that had driven him from the attic the night before… But that had been a dream! Hadn't it? His father at the mirror… talking to that horrible thing… It couldn't have been real. Almost everyone was on their feet, but still, unsure of what to do to help the former thief. He swore that time itself stopped when his tortured father finally spoke.

"_Foolish beings!_" he shouted at them all, eyes wide and smiling unwholesomely. The Queen backed away. The tailed man's eyes were furiously bloodshot and his teeth seemed unnaturally sharp.

Freya, the battle scarred Dragon Knight, was the first to move from her seat. "Release him, scum!" she shouted angrily.

The crazed ruler pinned his glaring gaze on her. "_Ooh, are you trying to threaten me?_" he gurgled.

She snarled at him, the long scars about her nose twisting and scrunching savagely. "Release him," she ordered a second time. The magic users were readying their pacifying incantations.

The blonde grinned impossibly wide. "_You can't stop me, creature of offal…_" he sneered. "_There is no power here that may hold me_."

Quicker than lightning Vivi launched a stunning spell at the ruler.

The man shrieked and leapt out of the way, laughing maniacally. "_Pompous fools!_" he shouted at them, landing on one of the hall's many chandeliers high above them. By now the Knights had gathered their wits and were gathered about the table, shields up. Zidane gurgled unhealthily from the roof. "_You're time has come!_" he announced, shaking a fist. His eyes were a blazing red. "_Nothing may save you now! The scum that has been growing right under your noses will overthrow you all!_" He sprang from the crystal hanging as the black mage threw another spell at him. The crazed ruler landed on the wall and stayed there like a grossly oversized fly.

"Let my husband go!" cried the Queen.

Zidane laughed. "_Ha! You won't get him back! His body and soul belong to me now!_" He began another round of laughter. He waved his arm. What appeared to be a large mirror materialised out of nowhere, making everyone gasp. The three magic casters and the lady Knight rushed for the King, recognising the artefact all-too well. "_I'll see you all in Hell!_" he jeered, leaping from the wall. The floating looking glass swallowed him whole, vanishing in a split second thereafter.

"NO!" howled the Alexandrian Queen, falling to her knees. Tears were already careening down her cheeks. Eiko, Vivi and Freya were at her side, trying to consol her. Philippe, the Regent, his wife, the Burmecian King and his Prince were frozen by their seats. Doctor Tot was shuffling about the floor, pondering over what he had just seen.

Philippe was stunned. How… how could this have happened? The Castle was the safest place in the world! The walls were reinforced, the guard trained to their fullest… He couldn't believe that his father was gone.

* * *

That's it for now. I'll see you all again in fourteen days. 


	4. I:iii Bound Between Aged Scarlet

Disclaimers: Zidane and his 'pals' all belong to Squaresoft and its grafted extension Enix.

But everything else, including the books, the mirror, the Prince and the crazy people belong to me.

* * *

CHAPTER III: BOUND BETWEEN AGED SCARLET 

The Prince sat alone on his vastly oversized bed, still trying to come to terms with the fact that his father had been taken away from him. Though Eiko, Vivi, and Freya still remained to comfort the traumatised Queen, the rest of the guests had left, leaving their best wishes. The good Doctor was still pondering over the event, trying to piece together what little there was to examine.

There was one thing, however, that was setting him all the more on edge. Before he had been ushered away by the aging black mage, Tot had discovered a marking of some kind under the King's chair in the Dining Hall. It was a ring of foul-smelling soot, encasing within an ugly five-pointed star.

He didn't know what it meant but he was sure it was far from good. He was sure he had heard the word 'pentagram' before he had been forced to leave. It was not a word he was familiar with, though he was sure he had heard it used more than once in reference to some sort of evil. To say the least, he didn't like the way things were shaping up. His mother was a mess, the Knights were confused, no-one would tell him anything, and all his illusions of the impregnability of Alexandria's Castle had been swept away in one harsh blow.

The dream from the night before came to mind. The hideous face… the awful stench… it all came rushing back. He swiftly found himself making for the attics, his mind spinning in incomprehensible loops. But… wasn't it just a dream? He was sure of it. There was nothing up in the attics, just a bunch of old, useless junk from way-back-when. He let his feet guide him anyway.

The bleakness of the upper levels was never something that repulsed the Prince, but nor did he find it entirely welcoming. For all his spunk, he could only stand the dry atmosphere of the Castle's attics for so long. The whiteness of the paint and concealing sheets of the public level were not as rewarding a sight as they were the day before, leaving an odd pit in the youth's stomach where the usual giddiness would reside. The door to the topmost floor was not easy to locate, hidden behind all sorts of crates and sheets, as if on purpose. Pushing the obstructions away the Prince gazed at the warping portal of wood in apprehension. This was the same door he had seen in what he was sure to have been a dream. Biting his lip he tried the rusting handle. It wouldn't budge.

Locked? That didn't really pose a problem for the ruler-to-be; he had learned a few… tricks from his father when he had been younger, since the man didn't think that he would remember them. Unfortunately for the King, his son still remembered every lesson of lock-picking he lectured. So, a locked door wasn't enough of an excuse to turn back. Pulling a long, slender pin out from his ornamental sleeves he swiftly went to work on the horribly aged bolt. The snap of success sounded in seconds.

With hardly a push the door swung open, revealing to the Prince the same collection of dust-chocked, sheet-concealed junk as, dare he say, the night before? The wood of the abandoned floor creaked loudly with every step he took, reverberating about the cramped space. It wasn't too long until his feet guided him towards the center of the attic, were a large, almost circular space had been cleared. At one side stood a table with three books resting atop it, and a huge, flat object draped in cloth sitting not too far. As he neared Philippe could feel the alien cold overtake his athletic form, making him shiver and cringe. The air here was much more stagnant than the rest of the attic, and almost seemed to carry a scent of… rotted meat. He found himself wishing he had a kerchief to cover his nose with, but sadly didn't possess one. Reaching the center of the clearing he could just make out a faint ring of some kind drawn on the wood, with all sorts of patterns on the inside; but it was so light, he could hardly tell purposeful mark from natural stain. He stopped in the center, looking about. He didn't feel safe here.

His sight rested on the draped object that rested to his left. It was much taller than he was, maybe at least seven feet tall, possibly oval in shape. Brief flashes of his dream came back to him. Was this a mirror? Under no command of his own he hand gripped the stained cloth that kept the object covered from the light of day, but he stopped before he could pull. His hand shook, as if fighting him. He simply stared, trying to regain some sense of self control, if that was really what he had lost. After nearly a minute of stillness, he finally let go of the sheet, whipping his hand away thereafter as if he had been burned. He cringed under the shadow of the thing beneath the cloth, reverting his gaze elsewhere in hopes of extinguishing the feeling of being watched by disapproving eyes. He purposefully moved away from the clearing's center towards the table, focussing blindly on the three tomes that were set there.

Still feeling the _scorn_ of the thing behind him he peered furiously over the books, gripping them harder than necessary. But the feeling… it was so strong! He swore the object was moving beneath the sheet; he kept his attention on the aged volumes. It was only his imagination.

_Did the cloth just fall away?_

One of the books was a coal black, another a rusted auburn, and the last, the largest one, a bloody red lined with gold leaf.

_Are those hands coming out from the glass?_

The title of the first, smallest one was "_A Comprehensive Guide to Things That Never Should Be_." Odd.

_The glass is bulging, something's coming._

The second read "_Enemies of Mankind: Minions of the Raging Inferno_," on its spine.

_Is that a head?_

The third, largest tome read, in what looked to be Old English, "_Ae Stranger's Guidde To The Infernoe; Forre The Insighteful Ande The Blinde_." The Prince weighed the tome in his hands.

_It's looking right at you, it could eat you_.

Philippe whipped his head around.

There was nothing. The thing beneath the sheet was unmoved, the cloth still draped over it to keep the harmful dust away. With his skin still crawling a mile a minute he bade a hasty retreat back to his own chambers, all three tomes in hand.

The feeling of being carefully watched didn't leave him until he was well away from the attics.

- - -

On the main floor, Eiko, Vivi, Freya and Doctor Tot were mulling over the unfortunate change in events. The Queen was asleep in her chambers, having cried herself into a stupor out of grief hardly moments before.

The black mage was kneeling by the encircled pentagram that had been hidden beneath the King's chair, examining it closely. Freya was pacing impatiently in the back. Eiko was standing uncertainly in the middle.

Philippe was still making for his chambers, but had made a detour to the main floors to eavesdrop in on any progress on his father's disappearance. Keeping just out of sight, but well within hearing range, he tuned in.

"How are your findings, Master Orunitia?" inquired the long-nosed Doctor.

The mage hummed to himself. "It's definitely very powerful," he said. "Possibly a targeting curse. Pentagrams are difficult to read, their art, as far as I know, has long since been lost from common knowledge."

The Dragon Knight threw up her arms with an exasperated grunt. "Oh, please!" she shouted, making everyone turn to face her. "Isn't it obvious?" The other three said nothing, puzzled at her outburst. "This is all _his_ fault! It's right in front of our faces! Who else has access to these foul powers?" she interrogated angrily. In the shadows, Philippe frowned. Who was she talking about?

Vivi sighed and got stiffly to his feet, his staff gripped tightly in his good hand. "Freya, we can't jump to such conclusions," he replied softly. "He… and Zidane are still… close, from what Zidane has told me--"

"He shouldn't trust him!" she interrupted loudly, pointing an accusing finger. "He was trouble the moment we met him, and now look what's happened! That foul oaf is behind all of this, I'm sure!"

The black mage didn't rise his voice. Philippe was listening intently. "There is no reason for him to do such a thing, Freya."

"Oh?"

"A man of his position? His power? For what end would it gain him?"

She sneered. "He's no _man_, Vivi. He's a monster. Always was, and always will be. He's a corrupted freak of nature! Bent on ruining everything we have built!"

Vivi just shook his head. Eiko remained where she was. "It couldn't have been him," she added quietly.

Freya pinned her with an incredulous stare, her scars bunching about her brow. "Don't tell me you _support_ that beast?" she hissed.

Eiko shook her head strongly. "No. I don't. But I'm sure it wasn't him. It's like Vivi said, he's got nothing to gain from doing this. It would only cause trouble. It has to be someone else."

"How can you be so sure?" she challenged.

"Freya!" insisted the Summoner. "You have to understand. He's not like that. It's not his nature. It's not _their_ nature, no matter how malicious… and horrible… they may be."

Vivi nodded. "If anything, he might be able to help us get him back." He moved away from the symbol on the marble floor. "He has the power, no doubt."

The Dragon Knight just snorted dismissively. "Fine. Think what you will, but I can see where this is going. That blue bastard's planning something, and it will spell the end for us all." She then promptly turned on her heel and left the Dining Hall, still muttering dark things under her breath. The Burmecian passed the Prince's hiding place, not even sensing his presence.

Philippe was enthralled. Who were they talking about? It sounded as though they all knew whoever it was from a ways back, maybe even by years. He continued to listen, hoping to catch some more information before having to vacate.

The Doctor broke the uneasy silence. "I may not be familiar with the ties you all shared before the Iifa Tree's fall, but I assume you are speaking of… er, the more elusive of your former group?"

Vivi leant heavily on his staff. "Yes."

"I am not familiar with the… ah, conditions of his disappearance. Perhaps you could tell me?"

The mage chuckled slightly. "To tell you the truth, Doctor Tot, I'd rather not. Nothing personal, it's just a very… dark… and rather disturbing story. You'd be robbed of sleep for months. The shadows of that event still haunt me, even now." He smiled at the short man. "I'd rather not subject you to such horrors, good Doctor."

"I see," said Tot. "I understand." He tapped the side of his temple in thought. "You mentioned that he would be able to help, correct? How would that be?"

"Let's just say he's got a lot of power under his belt. Though, we may have to look for an alternative way of getting the King back."

"Why is that?"

Eiko spoke up. "It's risky, trying to contact him; dangerous, even."

"On top of that, only Zidane seems to know how to do it," supplemented Vivi.

"What of the Queen?" inquired Tot. "Perhaps she would know as well?"

"I doubt it," replied the Black Waltz. "I don't think she knows that Zidane keeps his ties this well. I don't think we should mention it to her, either. It would surely break her. She's too delicate yet to fully come to terms with what happened."

"I see, then we had best start looking for alternatives," advised the man with the nose. "I do believe I may have some volumes on the dark elements from the studies of my peers." He turned and headed for the Castle's lower levels, where he kept his current study. "If you both will follow me."

Both mages swiftly disappeared with the Doctor.

His brain whirling, the Prince got up and quickly shut himself away in his chambers, the three books still in hand. Locking his door behind him he seated himself upon his mattress, trying to fit everything he had heard into perspective. From the sounds of things, they were dealing with something far beyond the measures of science. Was it supernatural, then? Ghosts and goblins and witches?

He brought up the largest tome he had snatched from the attic. Its scarlet covering and gold leaf lining made it seem rather important. Thinking that maybe he would find something of use, if not mild entertainment within its pages, he opened it. There was no publication date. He read the first page aloud quietly.

"_Welcomme, Seeker of The Infernoe, to this Guidde. Tailorred especiallie forre those not familiarre with the Workings of the Underworlde ande all its Horrors. Yourse will be ae Journeye of unbiased knowledge unladenne by the Prejudices of Manne._

"_To fully understande the wordes laide before Thee, you must entre with both sounde minde ande clean spirit. Forre those who will be revealed to Thee throughe these pages are Masters of ae greater Balance that noe mortal, noe matter howe wise, maye comprehende. Beare in minde, Reader, that 'Evile' is but ae title, made by Manne, ande nothing more._

"_If you understande mye words, then You maye pass to read further. If not, I, The Revealer, advise that Thoust turne thine eyes to other writings, forre The Infernoe is noe place for the weak ande foolish of minde._"

Philippe stopped, frowning slightly. 'Evil is but a title'? What did that mean? Huffing slightly in less than optimal comprehension, he flipped to the table of contents, hoping to find something that would reference his current dilemma. A heading of '_Unlawful Summonings_' caught his eye. Shrugging, he turned to the specified page. Sure enough, on the first page of the chapter, was the pentagram, or something similar, that he had caught a glimpse of in the dining room beneath his father's chair.

"_The Pentagramme is an etching that moste identifye with The Devile, the moste feared inhabitant of the Underworlde. It is ae Symbol of great supernaturalle power, ande is not to be taken lightley under any circumstances. The Symbol is at its moste basic of elements, ae inverted five-pointe starre enclosed within ae perfect circle, generally drawne in bloode or soote or white chalk. Moste Pentagrammes are harmlesse, ande serve noe further purpose thanne expressing One's supposed infatuationne with 'Evile'._

"_Howeverre, to travel, ande understande The Infernoe, One must comme to recognise True Pentagrammes. These Symbols are ladenne with power ande very dangerous, ande thus must be treated with greate caution. True Pentagrammes, if drawne correctly, have the power to summonne Demons fromme The Infernoe to the Mortal Realm. Howeverre, One must keep in minde, that doing so is against the Laws of Balance explained earlier in this Volume. Taking ae Demon fromme its rightful place in the Hells is ae dangerous ande foolish endeavour that, if not handled with extreme caution, will result in the deaths of those who tried to bringe it forth. Some True Pentagrammes are used as targets forre ae summoned Demon spirit, drawing themme towards ae certain manne or womanne for possession._"

Philippe looked away from the text, his brain already protesting against the unreal 'knowledge' that was funnelling through to his mind from the book. The type was a bit heavy for his tastes. The style of ancient English was never one he had fully learned. His mother would know it extensively, but she was sleeping. She needed her rest, and he doubted that showing this to her after what had happened would not be a good idea at all. He sighed and checked the number of pages in the tome. Well over a thousand resided between the covers, all yellow and aged. The Prince slumped slightly. He'd never read a book even half this size. How on earth was he supposed to get through this? And would it even help him find his father?

There was no glossary, nor was there an index for quick reference. Jeez, whoever this old 'Revealer' man was, he wasn't one for simplicity. Huffing in aggravation, but with nothing better to do until he was 'let out' of his chambers, he skimmed the table of contents a second time, hoping that something of use would pop up at him.

_- Concerning The Proper Use Of This Guidde -_

_- Concerning The Laws Ande The Balance -_

_- Further Reading Concerning The Laws -_

_- Concerning Pentagrammes Ande Other Symbols -_

_- Concerning Demons Upon The Earth -_

_- Concerning Demons Upon The Earth: Possession By Malevolent Forces -_

He stopped at the sixth entry. Possession? Maybe that was what he was looking for? Philippe rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It was a long, crazy shot, blindfolded, and in the dark. He had heard stories of people being so-called 'possessed' by immaterial spirits before, but never really thought too much of it. From what he gathered, it was some sort of state where people did and said things under an influence not of their own, but of someone or something else's. Shrugging, he prepared himself for the text to come.

"_Possession is ae rare condition that canne only come to pass uponne ae personne throughe the foultry of another. Ae Demon's spirit, released throughe ae unlawful summoning conducted by Manne or another sentient being, will burrowe into the bodye of ae Manne or other sentient being, ande utilise the figure forre theirre owne devices._

"_Because of the rules outlined in the Firste Law (See Chapters Two ande Three), the Demon released fromme its rightful place in Hell will firste ande foremoste attempt to returnne to The Infernoe (See Previous Chapter). The Hotse Bodye will be taken with the Demon spirit into Hell, ande will never be returnned unless the spirit is exorcised, ande thus set free._

"_The signs of ae possession are varied. Moste victims will twitch ande convulse in attempts to warde away the Demon. Others may howl like animals. In any case, possession by ae released Demon spirit cannot be fought off forre long, ande without the aide of ae Holy Manne or religious Cleric, the targeted personne will eventually succumb to the Demon's power. Once possessed they will beginne to shout ande curse in ae moste vile manner, often threatening those arounde themme. If the Demon responsible is of weaker stock, thenne it maye merely run away. Ae stronger Demon will do physicalle harme to those that surrounde it. Often, those possessed will become sickly to look upon._"

It was close. But was it really what he was looking for? He thought carefully. Before his father had disappeared, he convulsed as if he had been attacked, he had sworn and threatened his guests, he had looked anything but healthy, and then he had run away. But to where? The writer continuously referred back and forth to Hell and some inferno. But Hell wasn't a real place, and neither was this 'Infernoe' place, he was sure.

Another section of text caught his unwilling eye.

"_Be forewarnned. If the exorcism is not performed within three days after the possessing Demon spirit's returnne to The Infernoe, both the bodye ande soul of the Hoste Bodye will be loste forever more_."

Philippe resisted the urge to throw the book across his room. This was all a bunch of hooey! His father was not possessed, and he wasn't just sent to Hell by some freak spirit from the underworld. It was all a figment of the imagination. The guy who wrote this was a loon. A box case. A crazy old man in desperate need of therapy. There was no way this could be real.

With a grunt he tossed the old tome to the side, exiting his chambers for a bite to eat. Maybe the others would have found some more insight into the whereabouts of his father.

- - -

He ate slowly in the kitchens, the short, hooded chefs going about their work slower than usual. The news of Zidane's sudden disappearance had flooded all throughout the royal grounds, and hopefully, not beyond. The last thing the people of Alexandrian needed was another reason to regret their willing reinstatement of the Alexandros line.

The Prince was burdened with the dark turn in events. His mother was an emotional wreck and his father was gone after telling everybody else to essentially eat dirt and die. What if they couldn't find him? What if he never came back? Would he be instated as King, then? Would he have to take his father's place at the throne? He hoped not. He wasn't ready. He was only eighteen. Of course, he knew that there were those that had been forced onto such a position well before him. His mother had taken the throne when she had just turned sixteen, due to the unfortunate death of her mother, Queen Brahne.

But in order for him to become King, his mother would have to either pass on or step down from her place on the throne. He didn't want that to happen. But if her condition got any worse than it already was, she could be forced from her seat of power if word got out. On top of that, if the people truly no longer trusted the stability of Alexandros line after the now three incidents of internal collapse, the entire family could be thrown from the country, or worse, killed. Philippe sulked. The people of Alexandria were kind and forgiving, but some held the royal family in small ranks of distaste due to the bout of misfortune that had assaulted the bloodline over the past twenty years. First Queen Brahne succumbed to the false temptation wrought by the villainous Kuja, then Garnet lost her voice and her Castle; and now, the King had been taken away by an unknown force. The Prince clutched at his head. News of this simply could not get out. If it did… there were those who would exploit it and ruin the family.

Feeling mildly ill he took the remainder of his meal and retreated back to his quarters, hoping to clear his mind.

He wound about the main levels towards the main stairs, chewing slowly on a piece of bread.

"Prince!"

He turned around at the sound of his title. "Freya?"

"Ah, there you are," said the Dragon Knight with a smile. She came up to him and placed a friendly paw on his shoulder. "How are you feeling?" she asked him, looking kind despite her many tell-tale signs of battle.

"Okay, I guess," he admitted. "Though I'm still rather confused about all of this."

"I understand completely, Prince," she said. "It was similar to this when the Burmecian King went missing many years back."

"How is mother?"

"She is still asleep. How she will be when she awakens we can only guess. The Doctor will know."

Philippe looked at the ground, his tail unmoving in his sorrow. "I didn't think it would ever be like this," he whispered.

Freya squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. "Don't you worry, Prince. We will find who is responsible for this, and make them free your father. Everything will be fine."

He looked up slightly, considering his next inquiry. "I heard earlier, when I was passing by the Dining Hall, that you and the others know someone who could help us find him…" The paw tightened uncomfortably on his shoulder.

"You don't want to know," said Freya softly.

Philippe peered up at her in puzzlement. A dark shade had crossed her features, rendering her expression hollow. Something… almost dangerous… shone from behind her gaze.

As if realising this, she suddenly released him and turned away, heading back down the way she had come.

The Prince was tired of all this. "But why?" he called after her. The Dragon Knight stopped momentarily, but didn't answer. She then continued on her way. He tried again. "Is it the man in the painting?"

This time she stopped completely. She eyed him coldly from over her shoulder. "Don't ask such questions, Prince," she said. "There is true evil in this world. Monsters… He is one of them. Don't… don't trust him." She walked away.

Philippe watched her vanish into the distance, resisting the urge to scream at the top of his lungs. What was wrong with these people? What was the big secret here? It bothered him to no end. He didn't understand the nature of secrets. Maybe it was because he didn't have any himself. He didn't believe in doing things that he couldn't someday share with another person; experiences, stories… that sort of thing. But apparently, he had found a sore spot amongst his family and their friends, seemingly centered entirely around a single, enigmatic figure that he had found by accident on the floors above. It seemed as though he was treading on thin ice every time he brought the subject up.

It made him angry. He was heir to this nation, and that in itself entitled him to any answers he wanted, didn't it?

Now even more upset than he had been before, he stalked angrily to his chambers, shutting and locking his room doors behind him forcefully before flopping onto his bed, his food miraculously staying on its plate. It wasn't fair! He wanted to bring his father back! He wanted to help! But no-one was letting him in on the action! No-one was telling him anything! He shouted into his sheets in frustration. Could this day get any worse? He turned himself over to stare heatedly at the ceiling. Worming around to get comfortable he knocked the three ancient texts to the floor. Not really caring, he sighed at nothing. He was tired from the morning's events, and it was now nearly noon. Just wanting to be left alone, he closed his eyes and waited for the comfort of dreams to wash away his worries.

- - -

"It seems that we are unfortunately getting nowhere," commented Doctor Tot.

"It sure does," agreed Eiko, brushing some stray strands of her short-cropped hair from her eyes. The three of them had just gone through every book of the Doctor's that even had the slightest mention of puppetry spells, possession charms, personal projection incantations, the supernatural… but nothing was helping. They were drawing blanks every which way, and it was bogging them down in more ways than one.

"Perhaps this may not be as complicated as we have been lead to believe," said Vivi suddenly. Eiko peered at him as if her were mad. "Some of this could be a rouse, a red herring to lead us away from the real culprit. Zidane could be merely under a spell of a talented mage, someone who wants something out of the family. But the question… is who?"

Tot considered this. "Yes, this seems to be much more probable than the hypothesis we had before. The Alexandros family still has many enemies, and there are those who will go to great lengths to bring them down, if not injure their credibility as rulers of the nation."

"What evidence do you think there will be, Vivi?" questioned Eiko, dusting her gown out of trained habit. "All I can think of is the symbol we found underneath Zidane's chair--"

"Exactly!" said Vivi excitedly. "It would have had to be drawn by someone with access to the Dining Hall, and the Castle itself. This should narrow our search. We'll look into any guests the Queen and King may have had over the past while, and see if maybe any of them hold anything against the couple. Maybe new recruits into the Knights' ranks… cooks… servants…"

"If that may be so then we should start immediately," advised Tot.

With nods of agreement from everyone, the three headed back to the main floors.

- - -

_A green, endless field spanned out before him. The sky was a perfect blue, with but one cloud in the far distance. What an annoying blemish, this cloud, spoiling a perfect sky like that. What nerve._

_He laid in the grass without a care in the world, soaking it all in. Staring high above he didn't notice the single cloud speeding towards him, growing in size. The blue sky was beautiful, the grass so soft._

_When at last the unwelcome shadow of this pristine dimension's only light fell over his body, he opened his eyes in aggravation. The cloud was huge and ugly, swarming with vile shades of green, violet, and blue amongst the perpetual grey. He glared at it, demanding that it go away to ruin someone else's day in stead and leave him be._

_The cover persisted, remaining where it was. The sky slowly began to turn an ugly hue of red, further angering him._

_The earth rumbled as small strings of lightning speared amongst the mass of the cloud high above. The grass lost its colour, withering into dust. The bare soil became lifeless and grey, cracking with the etchings of drought and abuse. He stood up, appalled at the turn in his relaxation. He stared up at the cloud that had brought all of this upon him. A wind, hot and merciless, whipped about him, sending equally burning pricks of dirty water smashing into his face and clothes._

_What do you want? He wanted to know why this thing refused to leave him be._

_Everything rumbled violently._

_Go away!_

_A loud voice boomed out from the air. "The answer is before you, Prince. Open your eyes. Blindness will do you nothing."_

_Leave me alone! I just want my father to come back!_

"_The way to regain him is open. Walk it, if you dare." The cloud warped and bubbled. A black steam, thick and gross, emerged from the mess. The smoke formed hands, reaching for him. A great pair of eyes, yellow with bloody irises, opened to glare down upon him. "Wake. I will give you aid. In turn, you will help me. I will be waiting. I will be watching."_

Philippe sat up quickly with a light gasp. He could hear the rain pattering against his windows. What an awful dream. His breath slowed and he laid back on his mattress.

There was a weight on his chest. He looked at it in puzzlement. It was the red book. But it had fallen to the floor earlier, didn't it? He picked it up absently. The volume was open to a new chapter, compelling him to read it. "Hmm? 'Retrieving Souls From Possession'?" He set the thing back on his chest, not really wanting to go up against the eccentricities of Old English for a third time.

A loud bang of thunder made him jump into the air, bringing his heart rate up so fast his head was instantly spinning. The book fell off him, laying open on the same page beside his arm, demanding his attention. He groaned loudly like the pampered being he was.

"_Releasing ae soul fromme Demon possessionne is noe small feat by any means. Much care must be taken in tracking the stolen bodye, ande even morre in removing the angry spirit. The longer a Demon spirit resides in the bodye of another, the stronger the holde becomes, ande thus it becomes all the morre difficult to expel the intruding spirit._"

The Prince didn't like reading this book. It was too old fashioned and too long-winded.

"_If the spirit has retreated to The Infernoe with the bodye, then in order to regain the Hoste One must summon the Demon back, with the Hoste Bodye intact. Or, if One does not possess the power, One must follow the Demon spirit into the Underworlde to exorcise it._

"_Howeverre, the Demon's spirit cannot be exorcised throughe normal means whenne in its home of The Infernoe. It must be physically challenged ande beaten, forced fromme the Hoste Bodye through painne._"

He forcefully closed the book. This was ridiculous! What, he would have to fight his father? Go through some inter-dimensional portal to some whacked-out Hell-world? It was a load of nonsense, utter crock. It was stupid.

_You won't get him back! His body and soul belongs to me now!_

The words of his father rang in his head. He suddenly scowled. Damn whoever did this to his old man! He would get even! He would… he would do anything… to get him back. The King was his father. His father was a hero. He was his son. He was a Prince. He was pampered, had never truly seen the light of battle, its fabled horrors, its supposed rush of adrenaline. He could use a sword… but he had never _used_ his sword.

What good would he be against his father's enemies?

He slumped, now thoroughly depressed. It wasn't fair. He wanted to get Zidane back. For himself, for his mother, for his friends, for the people of Alexandria. But above all… for himself. He stood up. No, he wasn't a hero, but he was a future ruler. He needed to prove himself somehow, to show that he was just as strong, in both body and mind, as his father.

He turned and grabbed the book, rummaged for a bag with a healthy collection of potions and preserved foods (meant for a camping trip that never happened), and his new sword. He swiftly jotted a note for the others, more or less explaining what he would be doing, and left for the attics.

As he always was, the Prince was silent in his movement, a refined gift that was once again taught to him by his father.

The only thought that crossed his mind as he ran was a hope that he wasn't doing something stupid.

- - -

Garnet rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"How are you feeling, your Highness?" questioned the Doctor. The two mages and the Dragon Knight were with him, giving her bright smiles.

"I… feel fine," she replied softly, though she felt far from willing to exist. Her husband was gone. Gone! She never thought she'd lose him again, not after that awful experience all those years ago. Not even the war against Kuja and his sadistic creator, Garland imposed such hopelessness in her. And what of her son? "How is Philippe?" He would be taking what happened much better than she, but Zidane was his father. Any child would mourn and despair the loss of one of their parents.

"He has been keeping to himself in his chambers, Queen," answered the short man. "We could send for him, if you wish."

She sat up on her bed. "No. I'll go and speak with him myself." Though still rather groggy from her weeping-induced sleep, she was graceful in her short trek to her son's bedroom chambers. She had been trained at an early age to flaunt her royalty like the Queen she would eventually become. It was something every Princess had to learn. Once she reached the door of Philippe's chambers she gave a light knock. "Philippe?" she called out. No answer.

She tried the handle, finding the door to be open. Letting herself in the Queen entered deftly, lest her son be asleep. The room was empty. "Philippe?" Where was he? Maybe he had gone to the kitchens for a bite to eat. There was some kind of note on the youth's mattress. Brow creasing slightly she advanced towards the bed, puzzled. At the bed's foot she took the sheet into her tender grasp and read the handwriting she instantly recognised as her son's.

Her chestnut eyes went terribly wide, and she cried and fell to her knees.

* * *

Things will swiftly begin to pick up now, thanks for being so patient! And yes, all that strange type was my sad attempt at something hopefully resembling Old English. Not that I really know it, but hey. 

Please read and review! I would much appreciate to hear what you think. Crit is more than welcome. Flames will be recycled to burn plastic and tire rubber.


	5. I:iv Skinny Puppy

Disclaimers: Zidane and his freaky posse all belong to Squaresoft and its interdimensional double, Enix.

But everything else, including the ugliness, the mirror, the grey freak, and watever else, is mine.

The darker elements of this story (introduced far before now) will start to become more aparent in this chapter, if they haven't already come clean in some form previously. There will be some good, old-fashioned violence here, but the rating is probably still safe at 'T'. However, for safety's sake, it will be upped next chapter to 'M'.

* * *

CHAPTER IV: SKINNY PUPPY

He had everything he needed. A leather strap bag of supplies, a sword, and a book on Hell written by a loon. How could he be more prepared?

But what would he do… once he got there? In every culture he knew, the Underworld was not a pretty place, let alone a tourist stop for aspiring heroes. How would he track his father? Who would help him? He was a total loss. All this was something he would best look up before taking his first step into a raging boiler of eternal pain. But wait… everyone in the Dining Hall had said something about someone… down there?… that could help. He stopped walking, still in the midst of the first attic.

But was this true? Was it… that strange man in the painting?

It was a tall guess, but he had nothing better to go on.

Well, if he was wrong, he'd probably burn for all eternity for it. He cringed. What marvellous stakes. The Prince hoped with all his might he wasn't making a huge mistake. He pulled the 'Guide' out from his side-hanging pack, figuring that he could find some pointers concerning what he could encounter, or simply avoid. He looked over the contents a second time.

_- Concerning Demons Upon The Earth: Possession By Malevolent Forces -_

_- Concerning The Nature Of The Infernoe -_

_- Concerning The Nature Of Hell's Portals -_

_- Concerning The Penetration Of Hell -_

He stopped there. The title sounded vaguely connected to what he wanted.

"_The entering of The Infernoe is ae risky endeavour that is best avoided. Howeverre, in the case that one must enterre the Realm of the Underworlde, one must be prepared forre anything. Firstly, ae proper portal must be attained or built (See Previous Chapter), ande the proper materials forre both defence ande sustenance attained. One must keep in minde that the foode found in Hell is deadly to mortals. Hell's natural fruits ande meats will renderre ae manne unable to returnne to the Mortal Realm. The poisonned soul will remain in Hell until theirre death._

"_Weapons of Silver are highly recommended forre defence, or ae blade of White Steel. Preserved foodes, which cannot be rotted by the touch of Demons, should be securely packed. In The Infernoe, Holy Artefacts ande Holy Waters will serve only to anger Hell's Demons, forre this theirre home worlde, where theirre power is strongest. Also, such objects will eventually melt from the Infernoe's flames ande heat the further one travels into the Underworlde. Healing salves are also something not to be forgotten, forre there are many things in Hell, both living ande otherwise, that will do greate harm to ae mortal traveller._

"_One must bear in minde that theirre presence will not be welcomme in Hell under any circumstances, as one would understande fromme the Second Law (See Chapters Two ande Three) that governs both the Heavens ande the Hells._"

Philippe took a quick inventory check of his supplies. Okay… He had twelve small healing potions, six packets of preserved bread, four strips of salted jerky, two full canteens of fresh water, and what looked like a dried prune. Hopefully it never came to that. He was also thrilled that his sword would be of use… down there.

With a last deep breath, he headed for the door leading to the final floor.

- - -

The four were at the Queen's side in seconds. "Your Highness!" cried the Doctor.

Queen Garnet picked herself up hurriedly. "I must find my son!" she shouted.

"What? What happened?"

She held out the note the Prince had left on his bed top, letting the short man of science read it aloud. "'To all in the Castle Alexandria'," he read, "'I am leaving temporarily to search for my father, and I will, with luck, return shortly. I have, by word of source, three days to free the King, and by all the power invested in me, I will succeed. Though it is a fearsome journey I am about to undertake, I am ready for whatever awaits me. Sincerely, Philippe'," he finished, lowering the note.

"He didn't…" breathed the Dragon Knight. "We have to stop him!"

"This can't be happening… Not again!" cried the Queen, rushing out into the hallway.

"Search the Castle Grounds," directed Tot.

- - -

The topmost attic was still a rather unwelcoming place. The fact that it was here that he would bade goodbye to everything normal and natural he had ever known in hardly a few seconds was doing a vicious number on his constitution. He found the small clearing in the covered debris easily enough. Standing before the concealed object at the clearing's side, the Prince took out the Guide in hopes solidifying his suspicions on what was really beneath the stained sheet.

_- Concerning The Nature Of Hell's Portals -_

Geh.

"_Wanting to enter The Infernoe is one thinge, but doing so is another. The forces of the Underworlde have always possessed the means to transporte over to the Mortal Realm, in the forme of greate, ornate Looking Glasses. The most powerful of these Artefacts are knowne as Demon's Portraits. These were utilised by the Lords of Hell to provide quick ande easy transporte of theirre armies ande legions to battle Necron alongside the forces of the Heavens at the very beginning of time. Unable to take the Mirrors back into the Underworlde when the War ended, they remain on the Mortal Realm. With the proper incantations ande materials ae simple mortal may open them to travel to the Hells._

"_Forre those who believe to have seene or possibly owne ae Demon's Portrait, ae true Artefact of this naturre will be crafted of purest Bronze with veins of countless precious metals. Gems will be encrusted all about it, with carvings of Infernal beings all about its rimm. They stand at ae menacing seven feet._"

Philippe kept the book open, looking up at the thing hidden beneath the sheet. This was what his father had been using the night before. He was sure it wasn't a dream anymore. Keeping the tome steady in one hand, he bit his lip and tore the sheet from the object before him.

Indeed, a huge, ornate mirror stood before him, encircled with hideous beings and precious elements. So… this was a Demon's Portrait? Why… did his father own one? What could he possibly want one for? He probably knew what it was, or else… what he had seen before now… would never had happened. He would have to ask his old man just what was up when he got him back. Correction… _If_ he got him back. Positive thinking was good, but too much of it would sorely disappoint if anything other than the optimal came to pass. He had to be realistic.

Okay, so he had a Demon's Portrait, but how did he use it? He turned to the volume again for his answers.

"_Ae Demon's Portrait nullifies any need forre candles or animal bloode in the Portal Ritual. The mirror may also be used to summon Greater Demons, but this will be spoken of later. Forre the Portal Ritual before ae Demon's Portrait, all that is needed is the incantation to openne the way to Hell._

"_Be forewarnned, that once one steps throughe the portal created by the Portrait, there is no turning back. The portal will close immediately once one enters the Underworlde. Afterwards, the only way to returnne, is to travelle throughe The Infernoe to the Obnox Abyss, at Hell's very base, where the exit back to the Mortal Realm resides._

"_If you, Reader, understande these terms, then read on. The incantation, which must be read backwards, once completed will cause the Mirror to churnne into ae sea of bloode and flesh. As you step throughe, holde within your minde only confidence, forre anything less will shatter your bodye in the tunnel. One must stand ae full five feet fromme the Portrait's face, with feet at shoulders' width apart. The speaker must stand straight, ande speak loud. Once one exits the portal, they will stand before the awesome Gates Of The Damned, the scarlet doors of the Hells_."

"Great." Holding the 'magic words' out before him, he angled his stance and readied himself. Backwards, huh?

"_Yb eht srewop fo eht dnim dna tirips_

_I dnamed yrtne._

_Eht Setag fo Sedah dloh on raef tsniaga em._

_Yb ym nwo htgnerts_

_I lliw reuqnoc Eht Onrefni_

_Thiw tub ym edalb dna stiw_

_Os nepo!_

_Dna wolla em egassap_

_Otni eht wam fo lanrete gnireffus!_

- - -

"Have you found him?" questioned the Queen, fresh tears spilling from her eyes.

"No." The four shook their heads.

They all shuddered and nearly collapsed to their knees as a shockwave flooded through the Castle. With the walls rumbling the five figures rushed for the source of the disturbance.

- - -

Philippe was fighting to stand straight against the vicious wind that was billowing out from the mirror. A swirling, red vortex had taken residence where the looking glass had been but moments before. Gods, it was a hideous sight. Whispers and hisses sounded from the undulating tunnel, speaking in a language he didn't recognise or understand. A hideous red light, shaped in the form of highly ornate ringed pentagram, shone beneath his feet. Was this the same light that had surrounded his father the night before?

Finally recomposing himself, he readied for the leap.

"Philippe!"

No way.

The others were coming! He couldn't let them stop him! He had to get his father back! To his surprise, and dismay, the door to the final attic swing shut fiercely under its own power, jamming itself shut. He looked back to the gross vision he had created. How the voices taunted him.

It was now or never.

With a cry and a firm grip on everything he needed, he threw himself in.

The vortex surrounded him in an instant. It felt as though he was being pulled in countless directions at once. The walls of living, bleeding flesh dragged him through the portal with innumerable turns and winds at a speed he couldn't even begin to fathom.

As soon as it had started, it was over.

He was on his hands and knees, panting hard to regain his breath. A sucking noise told him that the vortex had closed. Now… where was he? He wasn't sure he wanted to risk opening his eyes. The ground was rocky and cold and the air was rank with the underground. Coughing slightly he chanced a peek at his new surroundings.

It was so dark it was nearly blinding. But it seemed as though he was in a cavern of some kind. Only the faintest of outlines told him that he was on solid ground, surrounded by pillars of stone. Philippe picked himself up uncertainly, dusting off his pants. Distant echoes of cave water falling from the unseen roof broke the silence in a steady but broken rhythm. The Prince quickly checked his supplies, through feeling, to see if he had lost anything. Jerky… bread… whatever that thing was… canteens… potions… guide… he had everything. He checked under the potions to make sure one hadn't gotten cracked from the ride. Alright so he was more or less set, time to move on.

A quick pan from right to left didn't reveal any indication of where to go, but a faint light, hopefully not a trick of the darkness, seemed to be shining to his far right. Having no better options, he carefully angled himself towards it and started moving.

The tunnel was rank, the stench of the underground seeping through every crack and every cranny. Philippe was already hating every inch of this horrid place, but it was the only path, highway or secret passage, that lead to where he was headed. It seemed so unreal to him, even now. But there he was, on the so-called road to the Gates of the Damned, the font door to the infernal realm stock full with the shrieking souls of the dead. A part of him, the cocky part, was still refusing to believe any of this, screaming defiantly that this was all just an elaborate hoax thought up by some crazed old man with too much time on his hands. But, amazingly enough, the considerably more rational part of his brain was prodding the Prince to go forward, that this was the way. Though it still, as always, called for caution. That was the one of part of the little voice Philippe almost always ignored. Playing it safe was far from fun.

A definite change in the air nearly brought him to a complete halt. Slowing his steps he advanced as deftly as he could, the tunnel slowly widening in all directions. A distant, but distinct sound met his ears, repeating in quick flurries before vanishing. It was like a series of wet, hungry scrapings. The tailed Prince tensed as he continued forward. The sound came again, closer, but still far ahead. He could almost place it. A much louder, wet crunch emanated from the far end of the tunnel, still lost to darkness.

He almost considered turning back. But… where would he go? The portal was closed, and he had no idea of where he could be. A low rumble shook the corridor like a shockwave, making the walls of stone rattle and loose rock fall unceremoniously to the ground in plumes of dirt. Philippe struggled to keep his balance as the wave passed. What the heck was that? The tremor came again, but much weaker this time, fading away just as quickly. Not wanting to be crushed by an unsteady pillar crashing to the ground, he restarted his trek for the slowly growing light in the distance.

Though he went slowly, the end of the tunnel was nearing faster than he liked. The dim, cold light still glowed far ahead of him, signalling the dank corridor's end. Philippe felt as though he was a thousand feet underground, which was quite possibly very close to the truth. After all, the underworld was said to rest somewhere beneath the earth, though just how deep down was anybody's guess. The repetitive, soft crunching noises sounded again, alarmingly close, then all was silent. The Prince stood very still in the gloom, waiting. The noises eventually returned. He had no doubts that these noises were being caused by something in the light ahead, and wasn't too thrilled at the prospect of finding out just what it was. The Prince continued forward carefully, keeping each of his senses tuned, just in case. The great columns of stone began to rise from the rock in a regular pattern, as if directed by a more decorative force of nature. The pattern swiftly became mathematically precise, the stone pillars aligning themselves to the far sides of the tunnel, as if to guide him. Was this a sign? That he was at least heading in the right direction?

He didn't know if he should have felt happy about the fact that he was headed in the right direction, or terrified. He found himself questioning his resolve. What if it was all for nothing? What if he never found help? What if he never found his father? What if he got stuck here? Lost?

On top of that, what about the man that was supposedly down here that knew his father? He was sure by now that it was that bulky figure in the painting he found in the public attic of the Castle. The look on the man's face… he couldn't help but cringe. The smirk had seemed so real. Even now, through the aid of memory, it seemed almost inhuman. He tried to shake the image from his mind. And just who was this person, anyway? He struggled to remember the name. It started with an 'A'… Andy… Andrew… no… wait a minute… Amarant! That was the name, Amarant Coral, or something like that. Okay… So then, why this man supposedly here? In this, dare he say, God-forsaken place? He was a hero, wasn't he? He fought alongside his father against Kuja and Garland and set the world back on a course of productivity and life. Heroes like that didn't go to Hell, did they? They served the common good, right? That in itself surely would be enough to cleanse away any sense of sin, wouldn't it? He was probably deluding himself in some way, but he didn't care. Good always overcame evil, and that was how it was. It was fact, and that was how the world worked; at least in his eyes, anyway.

Though… what if this Amarant person didn't exist? What if he couldn't help him? Or worse, simply didn't? On top of that, just how would he find this man? If man he was? If he was trapped down here, like his father, than what help could he possibly have to offer him? As far as the Prince understood about Hell, souls stuck in its fiery embrace were more or less consumed, reduced to nothing but ashes and charred meat. He didn't think that there was any sneak in the world that could avoid being burned when surrounded by hungry flames.

The infernal tunnel grew in size sharply, revealing a great wide space swathed in a blaring, sourceless white light. The glow flooded the cavern, outlining the chamber in unreal detail. The pillars of nameless rock had become grand spires and columns of elegant marble, shaped and carved luxuriously by a talented, but wicked hand. Purple drapes pooled about the floor at the far sides, hang from the walls like reverently discarded skin. This must be the foyer of the Gates… He looked forward and instantly froze in place. He dove behind the closest pillar, hoping he hadn't been seen. Oh yes, he was in the foyer of the Underworld alright… He drew his sword and angled the blade in front of him, eventually getting a reflection of the grand Gates of The Damned, and what rested at their feet. Laying before the unholy Gates, chained to the walls by great links of black iron, was a beast of the likes he had never seen. Four heads rested between its shoulders, one of which was engaged in munching on the remains of the last unfortunate traveller to frequent the passage, hence the ominous noises he had heard earlier. Was that… Cerberus? The great guard-hound of Hades? No, it couldn't be; the beast had only three heads. So what, then, was this behemoth?

Philippe thought carefully. The monster was resting, it seemed. Out of the four heads only the one feasting on the pitiful corpse was awake, the remaining three dozing loudly, rumbling in synch with each other. He considered his options. The eating visage was to his left, rooted beside the Guardian's right shoulder. The central head was resting on the massive, dark paws, blowing loose debris swirling about the cold floor with every sleeping breath. It seemed safe to assume that the middle head was the 'leader', so Philippe wanted to keep from drawing its attention. The door of the Gates, his goal, squatted directly behind the monstrous beast. Was there any way he would be able to sneak past the creature? With the one head distracted as it was, he might just be able to pull it off.

Taking a deep breath the Prince prepared to leave the relative safety of his hiding place, sheathing his sword. Poking his head from behind the marble he watched and waited until the hungry head was preoccupied with a shred of bone stuck in its teeth. Its face pinched in aggravation as it tried to dislodge the offending shard with its dark tongue, flexing its long jaws. The tailed brunet deftly shifted from the shadowed entrance and began to slink against the wall opposite the upset head, keeping to the oddly sparse shadows. The closer he got the more clear the creature's make slowly became. It made the youth sick. Where he was expecting canine heads, nearly human faces met his fearful gaze. Indeed, this was no Cerberus. If anything, it was a perversion of the original creature. The monster's hairless grey skin was so dark as be nearly black, almost scaled in appearance. Its paws were tipped with savage yellow claws stained with flecks of red and crusted with veins of ancient gore. A long tail, bent in two places in a bolt shape, rested on the ground. Though the faces were nearly human, they were akin to that of vicious dogs in many ways. The green-eyed head, the one that had been munching on the unhappy corpse, was possibly the most animalistic out of the bunch, sporting elongated features to form an almost beastly visage; short, pointed ears flopped from a horribly bald head, the skin scarred as if eaten away by acid and grinning with a lipless maw overcrowded with teeth. The head opposite of it, possessed the same humanoid-canine features, only with a snub face twisted in a permanent snarl, stiff, pointed ears standing straight up from the ebony tresses that sprouted from the cranium. Between and behind these was another savage visage he couldn't quite see, but it seemed as though the canine-esque features had deformed into a sunken skull, facing backwards, with fearsome purple spines poking through its dreads above and behind its pointed ears. The final head, resting in the center on the huge paws, was the most human-looking of the lot, its facial features were naturally long and pointed, ears angling downwards from the side of the head with great golden hoops hanging from them. A great collar wrought of iron encircled the four necks, attached to the wall by three great chains, with even more stringing from the archway to connect with the beast's very flesh. The ring of metal was suspended from the throats by five thick spokes of the same dark metal, almost making it seem as though the thing had gotten a nasty-looking wagon wheel shoved over its heads. He tried to ignore the thing's hideous appearance as he moved forward.

The young Prince's heart froze as the nearly-muzzled face stopped its futile attempts to relieve itself of the organic annoyance, looking about the cavern sharply with fiery green orbs. Philippe held his breath and dived for the nearest cover, hoping that the thing wouldn't notice him.

With a short huff the head went back to gnawing on whatever cadaver it had claimed as its chew toy. Breathing easier, the prince restarted his trek, mouthing a silent prayer. He was almost there.

The quiet line didn't go unheard, however. The moment the phrase of thanks passed his lips the centre head instantly awoke, yellow eyes blaring from under thick tresses of dark hair. The other heads woke as well, with blue and a set of red eyes coming to attention. Almost at once Philippe felt himself cornered by the rested gaze of the creature's left head, blue orbs burning into his very soul. The snub visage scowled at him fiercely, roaring with the force of a freezing hurricane.

All four pairs of eyes were trained on him now, it took all his self control for Philippe to not curl into a ball and faint. He only just sprinted out of the way as a wickedly clawed paw came shooting towards him from between the pillars of rock and marble, scraping against the adamant stone savagely, leaving an admirable triple score in the cold rock. Back-flipping to safety, the Prince stood before the Guardian beast, well out of its reach. He nearly fell over when the monster spoke.

"FOOLISH MAGGOT-CHILD OF TERRAN WORMS, LEAVE NOW! THE WORTHLESS AND POWERLESS ARE NOT WORTHY TO SET FOOT HERE!"

The rush of wind that accompanied the shout sucked the breath from his lungs. The tailed prince took a steadying breath. Terran? Was it referring to his heritage? He wasn't quite sure what shocked him more: the fact that the thing could talk, that it knew his bloodline, or the reek of its breath. He figured he shouldn't be so surprised. It was Hell, after all. Unthought-of things are bound to happen, even talking multi-headed man-dogs. Both sides of his brain were screaming at him to run, to run as fast as he could and go home. They would understand, wouldn't they? His mother and her friends? He could say that it had just been too much, that he couldn't do it. He would force that portal to reopen and let him go back home.

…No. He couldn't do that. He was Philippe Tribal, son of Zidane, heir to the coveted Alexandrian throne. There was no excuse for him to back out now. He owed it to his father, the great hero who saved the word with the aid of his friends, so that life could go on in peace and harmony. He had to do the same. For himself, for his father, for his mother, for everyone. He had to try, even if it meant the end. Life wasn't worth living if you couldn't live it with a bang. The beast before him glowered at the Prince with nothing but hatred and contempt, waiting for him to make the first move.

A new thought came to him. If this ugly monster could talk, maybe he could reason with it. All he wanted to retrieve his father and go home. What harm would it do to let him in for just that? He wouldn't cause any trouble. He cleared his throat, trying to keep a straight, regal pose before the gargantuan beast. Gods, the thing was huge! Taller than the roof of the royal Dining Hall! "Please let me pass," he requested with as much confidence as he could possibly muster.

The thing sneered at him with its forward and right-facing heads, as the one on the left had no lips to sneer with. Just what the head in the back was doing he couldn't tell. "NONE MAY PASS," it replied simply. The whole cavern reverberated with the magnitude of the voices as they spoke in perfect synchronisation. The reverberations nearly brought the Prince to his knees.

"I intend to pass," he countered as he stood back up. "Let me through and there will be no trouble here."

The thing rumbled in laughter. "NO TROUBLE? YOU ARE BUT AN INSECT! INFERIOR TO ALL THAT STANDS BEFORE YOU AND BEHIND ME! GO HOME, WORM, AND COWER BENEATH THE SHADOWS OF YOUR ANCESTORS' TOMBSTONES."

Philippe tried again. Surely it would understand… "I'm here on a mission of mercy. Let me through, and I will give you my word that I will cause no trouble beyond the doors which you guard."

The massive four-faced Demon laughed fully at him. "YOU THINK THAT I WOULD ALLOW YOU TO PASS FOR SO TRIVIAL A THING? MERCY HAS NO PLACE HERE, BOY! BEFORE YOU RESTS THE ENTOMBMENT OF MANKIND'S ETERNAL SUFFERING! ONLY THE DIVINE PROVIDENCE OF SIN AND DEATH WILL BUY YOU PASSAGE." It suddenly swung its massive paw towards him, with every intent to crush him into a bloody pulp. The Alexandrian heir side-stepped to safety, hopping on the balls of his feet.

So, it wanted to fight, did it? He should have known better than to think that he could barter his way in with words. The creature was there for one reason and one reason only: to keep people out. He was foolish to think that it would relax its station for him. …But it never hurt to try. Diplomacy had its merits, though it didn't seem to do any good here. He flipped away from another stomp-attack, trying to think up an effective strategy as he drew his sword.

"THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE, MORTAL. LEAVE, OR I WILL DESTROY YOU."

"I'm not leaving," he retorted. "I won't bow down to a hideous freak like yourself! I will pass through those doors, whether you like it or not!"

It howled at the ceiling, making everything shake. "THEN BY THE RIBS OF THE FIRST OF MEN AND THE EYES OF THE FIRST OF WOMEN, YOU WILL DIE BY MY HAND!" Faster than lightning the thing lunged at him. Philippe leapt back, the massive jaws and claws only just narrowly coming up short as the chains holding the beast to the arch of the Gates pulled taught against the spoked collar. The monster strained to reach the boy, making the stone holding the links in place rattle and spew debris to the floor.

Out of panic Philippe dove forward, sword at the ready. The blade sunk deep into the throat of the middle head.

The thing grunted in annoyance, slowly standing up from its near prone position. Each step shook the chamber. The tailed Prince resisted the urge to shriek and whimper as he was dragged bodily into the air, his sword lodged in the bleeding wound he had created. He couldn't let go! If he did he would fall to his death to the very hard floor, and he would lose his only weapon. He chanced a look down. His vision swam. He was so high in the air! He didn't think the thing would be _this_ tall! He gripped his sword as tight as he possibly could, desperately hoping he wouldn't slip and plummet to the horribly white ground.

Angry at the pest hanging from its neck, the chained beast began to shake its body, aiming to dislodge the annoyance hanging there. The Prince hung on for dear life, trying to keep from screaming for all his worth. As the assault grew in violence he could feel his blade slowly coming loose, sending gross sprays of gore from the cut left behind. Philippe's body was whipping to and fro from the force of the monster's shaking, nearly wrenching him loose from his perch beneath the necks.

With a heavy shake of the beast's body he was thrown from the sword and sent hurtling to the ground. Just as much a skilled acrobat as his father, Philippe landed lightly on his feet. Though now, he was at a total loss of what to do. He had lost his weapon! He had to got his sword back. He scowled up at the thing. The Prince nearly lost his lunch. The center head still had the blade lodged in it, and the wound was bleeding profusely with what looked to be yellow-orange blood. "Sick!" he gagged. Living things were supposed to bleed red!

The man-faced hound glared at him with a vile sneer. It spread its impossibly thick front legs, angling its shoulders lower to the ground. With one shake the necks went suddenly limp in the collar, hanging as if broken. Another shake. The necks rotated within the collar like some freakish Ferris Wheel. With a crack the heads instantly came back to life, with the blue eyed, snub-faced head in the center position. Philippe could only gawk. Everything seemed to become incredibly cold. The blue orbs glittered impossibly as the boxy jaw opened, emitting a frozen stream of crystals streaking straight for the ruler-to-be.

The Prince only just dived out of the way as the line of deadly ice shot past him in a freezing wind. What the heck was this thing? That wasn't natural! Angry that it had missed, the beast repeated its last procedure. The necks rotated a second time, now replacing the blue-tinged head with the previously unseen visage that had been lost at the back. Red eyes set in a long, skull-like face glowered at the mortal heir hungrily. This face, like the green-eyed bald head, had no lips to sneer with. What almost looked to be tusks, a pair pointing up and a pair pointing down, protruded from the red-tinted skinless jaws, dribbling with a nameless ooze. The curling locks of hair seemed to be drenched in sweat. Why was it so much hotter all of a sudden?

Philippe thought it wise to get well away from the thing as it took a deep, almost laboured breath. A multicoloured funnel of flame spewed forth from the maw of the new leading head, spilling all about the floor like water, heading straight for the tailed youth in a wide spread. He couldn't dodge this! Thinking quickly, he turned around and fled for the nearest pillar as the flames advanced. With a finesse inherited from his arguably alien paternal half, he scaled the smooth marble like a ninja, losing traction and flipping back to the earth as the fire passed and died away into the stale air.

The Guardian beast roared furiously at the Prince. That's the fifth time it had missed! Its anger was boundless! It would smash this pathetic excuse of a being underfoot! No matter what! It began to violently shake its shoulders against the confines of its chains. It had a better plan to get rid of this pest.

He ran for the thing. He needed his sword! The neck he had lost it in was now facing backwards at the top of the shoulders, away from the others. If he could get there, he could retrieve it. As the creature continued to shake its mass in some kind of temper tantrum he darted up the thing's right leg, miraculously climbing up to the back without so much as a snap of disapproval from the heads. He held onto the iron spokes of the collar for support as he advanced on the growling yellow eyed head caught at the back. Seeming to notice that he was on top of it for the first time, the beast roared and reared back onto its hind legs. Philippe clung to the insanely thick pole of iron keeping the collar speared to the thing's neck to keep from sliding to the ground. But the spoke was too thick for him to keep a good enough grip. He slipped from the shoulders down the thing's back. The chains that hooked to the beast's skin instead of its collar came into view. Unable to think of anything else, he whipped an arm out to catch himself on the links of heat-treated iron. The links digging into the dark flesh were interlaced with constantly healing skin, the sores opening and reopening with every movement the chains made against the toughened body.

Nearly standing straight on its back legs having thrown itself backwards so far, the Guardian monster bellowed and fell forward, paws out. Philippe gripped the messy chain in fear, too terrified to close his eyes. Leaning forward as it fell the beast's descent pulled against the shortest of the chains hooked to its back. As it hit the ground fully on its front paws the links dug into its back and sides went impossibly taught. The stretching force being too great, the links snapped. Bloodied chains whipped into the air from the backlashing force of being released from the dark body so fiercely, sending thick ribbons of the creature's gore into the air with them as the sores were torn open with the chains' release. Philippe was tossed into the air, still holding on to his iron chain. Only those attached to the collar were still intact, but even only a few of them were still whole, others dangling just as detached and uselessly as the rest. His ride slowly beginning its earthward descent, the Prince tried to think up a new pan of escape.

Taking a crazy gamble he threw himself at the behemoth body below him, aiming for the head that had his sword. Too late, the heads had switched yet again, going a full half circle to replace the yellow eyed face at the center stage. He was headed straight for the fire-breather. He began to flail out of panic. The Prince landed on the top of the fire-head's cranium, right in the sweaty mess of its wiry hair. The impossible heat that the visage seemed to wield instantly enveloped him, sucking away his strength. Not wanting to be roasted to death as some mutant form of head lice he scrambled for freedom, slipping and sliding through the wet locks.

Breaking free of the insane heat of the back head he fell through space to the face below. Nearly missing entirely he reached for and gripped the nearest dreadlock he could, wrapping all four of his limbs around it. He didn't realise he had squeezed his eyes shut until he opened them. If it wasn't for his royal upbringing and self-control, he would have wet himself. The yellow eyes of the middle head glared at him with a demonic glow as he hung between them. "Good God!" he shouted, letting go. He fell flat on the thing's nose, gripping at the skin there as the monster shook its face to rid itself of him. The countless scars gave the Prince more than ample purchase, and kept him from being tossed into a pillar. What had he gotten himself into? He was going to get himself killed! He was close to breaking into tears he was so afraid. He wasn't meant to be a hero. His grip slipped and he tumbled to the side. He clapped his gloved hands about the monster's lower side lip to keep from hitting the ground.

The Guardian roared in frustration, making the Prince's ears ring crazily. Oh and the breath! It nearly knocked him completely senseless. Through watering eyes he could see his sword, still lodged in the bleeding neck muscles below him. Reaching out he began to shimmy his way towards it from above, the heads around him going nuts in attempts to snap him in two. Close enough. He threw himself at the weapon, landing squarely on the hilt. Thankfully, that was all that was needed to wrench the blade free. Using his remaining momentum he angled his athletic body to land on the inner ring of the massive collar. The monster roared furiously, unable to reach him. It shook its multiple necks, hoping to dislodge him. Philippe was thrown to one side, crashing straight into an iron pole of a spoke. He gripped the metal as tightly as he could, his arms hardly fitting halfway around the spoke's incredible girth. The blue eyed freezer was just above him, huffing and snorting cold plumes of steam. For the first time in this battle, he had the upper hand.

With a yell he plunged his blade upwards, sinking the weapon deep into the throat. The head shrieked and spat, dark yellow lifeblood spewing from the obscene wound. The Prince, determined to win this fight, withdrew and struck a second time. Thrust after thrust he went deeper into the flesh and bone, slowly severing the neck from its place amongst its brethren. The stuff that was gushing forth from the rapidly widening cut was causing everything it touched to freeze. Frost was forming about the cut skin and was slowly covering the heir's weapon. The Guardian wasn't taking this laying down either. Howling and snapping it fought to rid itself of this pint-sized nuisance.

Cold and tired the tailed Prince finally achieved his goal. With the supporting muscle gone the neck of the head snapped. The cold head pitched forward, lifeless. The remaining sinews stretched and snapped from the strain, the face falling from its place to the hard floor with a crash, leaving nothing but a frosted, bleeding stump in its wake. The decapitated head almost instantly decomposed into rot and sick, leaving not even a stain behind. The monster roared. Slipping in an icy puddle of the beast's gore Philippe fell from his protected perch to the ground. He hit the ground in a roll, regaining his footing quickly, bloodied sword at the ready. The creature glared at him with nothing but hatred, with a sharp, mocking smile playing over its lips. What the heck was it smiling for? He had just took out one of its heads! Surely he must have proved himself in some way in the eyes of this freak. Maybe it would consent defeat and let him pass. The eyes of the center head shone menacingly. Philippe kept on his toes. He knew what the red and blue heads did, but not the yellow and green. The beast threw itself back onto its hind legs, howling at the ceiling with its multiple voices. The stump that was all that remained of the ice-breather began to bubble and grow. When the beast landed back onto its feet, the Prince couldn't believe his eyes. The head he had just done away with, was sneering right at him all over again.

The thing could heal itself? Not fair!

The Prince was dumbfounded. He was quickly brought back to reality as he was forced to avoid another incoming blow from the massive paws of his enemy. He scuttled away as fast as he could, trying to put some distance between himself and the multi-talented gargantuan beast. Any hopes of escape were swiftly dashed to pieces as a loud thundering informed him that the Guardian had given chase. A loud clanging of metal and an angry howl made him look back. The beast had stopped, the remaining chains refusing to let it go any further. Philippe allowed himself a small smile. So, the thing couldn't follow him everywhere.

His smile quickly faded though as the beast gave a vicious yank on the chains with every ounce of its weight, making them shatter to metallic dust. He immediately began to run, heading for the exit.

The Guardian thundered after him, swiftly closing the distance between them.

Philippe didn't dare to look behind him as the horrible racket of pursuit continued. The monstrous steps paused, and a huge shadow covered him briefly. A split second later the monster was in front of him, roaring and drooling, the many eyes afire with a demonic light. He skidded to a halt and took a few steps back, sword out. The Guardian drooled and growled, cold mist billowing from the blue head, steam and smoke from the red in the back, and a sour acrid gas from the bald corrupted green. "FOOL. YOU CAN'T LEAVE ONCE YOU HAVE CHALLENGED ME." It took a step towards him as he continued to step away. "I TIRE OF THIS IDIOCY." The monster's skin began to bubble and ooze, making the intimidating form shrink in a flood of white smoke. The Prince looked about in uncertainty. "I WILL MAKE YOU HOWL IN AGONY FOR MERCY." The smoke faded with a melting sound, leaving a much smaller form in its wake. Philippe nearly lost his jaw. A seven foot figure, grey skin nearly black, dressed in a sleeveless, legless leather fighting suit, with thick, messy dreadlocks falling all about the angle-eared, yellow eyed face he had stabbed earlier. The iron collar was still intact, suspended in the middle of the slightly stretched neck by the spokes driven into its throat. It grinned at him, its hair falling over one eye stylishly. "Because I'm going to send you on an express trip to hurtville." It brought up its thick, apish arms, bouncing on the balls of its digitgrade feet, its equally thick, bolt-shaped tail waving behind it.

Philippe was stunned stupid.

The Guardian sneered at his indecisiveness. "Come and get me, Terran Maggot."

In a flash the Prince was up in the air, anger rampant, sword held high. No-one insulted his family that way! He was a descendant of the Genomes of Terra, and he had no intensions of letting such insults pass so lightly. And now that his opponent was of a much more manageable size, he would be more able to prove his point. He brought the blade down hard.

There was a ring of metal. Philippe gasped. The Guardian grinned at him, the blade of his sword caught precisely between two of its raised fingers. "Ooh, feisty, aren't we?" It suddenly struck him just below the neck with its palm, sending him hurtling backwards. It cracked its neck with a twitch of its shoulder as the Prince struggled to get back onto his feet. "Why are you here, worm?" it questioned him with its unfading grin. "You can't fight worth a damn and you don't even know how to defend yourself. Consider yourself lucky that I will be the one to end your miserable existence, for there are worse creatures than me beyond the Gates of The Damned."

"You…" blubbered Philippe, readying his sword. "I won't let you beat me," he wheezed, a small trickle of red blood flowing down the side of his face. "I will defeat you and rescue my father."

The Guardian laughed. "Rescue? If anything, you will be joining him!" It started towards him.

"Shut up!" he shouted at the thing. He charged and swung viciously.

The creature disappeared.

Philippe's gaze darted about. Too late, he realised, that the beast had leapt over him and was now standing directly behind him. He spun around.

Not fast enough. The monster struck his right arm with the side of its hand.

The pain that followed was indescribable. The blade clattered to the floor and the Prince crumbled to his knees, clutching at his shattered arm. What fighting style was this? He had heard of monks that frequented lost monasteries on Gaia's wide plains that used such powerful weaponless techniques, but how could a beast of Hell know such strength?

It walked up to stand before him. "Broken already? I expected more. Scream, maggot," it said, still grinning. "Scream for all your worth. It's been so long since I've had a visitor, and I intend to make you last. Writhe. Scream."

Philippe bit his lip to bottle the pain. He would not scream. He wouldn't give this sadist such satisfaction!

The Guardian tilted its head to one side, making its hooped earrings glitter in the alien light. "Trying to bottle it in? Feh. Really." It gave him a vicious kick in his injured arm, knocking him to the ground. Philippe gasped and choked, eyes watering dangerously. Still he did not scream. "Hmm. Weak. You have no endurance." It brought a calloused foot up and pressed it against the youth's broken arm, applying merciless pressure.

The Prince shrieked, worming under the limb uselessly. His tail whipped about on reflex, looking like a dark, angry snake.

"Louder!" shouted the grey-skinned beast, eyes wild. "Scream louder!" It pressed harder against the broken bone, eliciting more cries from the ruler-to-be. "Its beautiful, such music to my ears! Rapture!"

The brunet was howling murder. "You sadist! Get off of me!" he cried.

The grin widened. "Care to say that again?" It increased the already insane pressure it was putting on the youth. Philippe felt several of his ribs crack as he was ground into the marble by the creature's one foot. "I don't think I heard you."

"Bastard!"

It removed the foot and kicked him full in the face, sending his body careening back.

The Prince landed on his front, a smear of red trailing about the floor from his graceless landing. He couldn't move, even though he could hear the monster advance yet again towards him. He was nearly sobbing. He was going to die. He had left his only home to follow in his father's footsteps, and look where he ended up, face down in the stone, beaten and bloodied by a monster so much greater than him in both strength and competence. What was he thinking? He had been a fool to come here. He should have known he would never had made it.

"Any last regrets, worm?" questioned the thing, kneeling behind him. It forcibly took a hold of his chin to make him face it. The grin was still there. "Any begging for mercy?" It laughed slightly. "I'm listening. Convince me of why I should let you live, and maybe, just maybe, I'll let you go," it told him in a mockingly tender voice.

Philippe knew the thing was toying with him. He just wanted to wake up from this nightmare. This was all just a bad dream! "You… you're not real…" he bubbled, voice thick with blood and pain. More fresh wet flooded up his throat with every breath.

"Oh? I'm not am I? Why is that?"

"This is… all just a bad dream… I'm gonna wake up… and you'll be gone…"

The Guardian chuckled. "Is that so? Is your pain, all your broken bones not real, too?" it questioned sarcastically.

Philippe's vision was swimming dangerously.

It leaned in close, its face nearly touching against that of the Prince. "No such rest is in store for you," it whispered to him. "You have failed… and you will die… Nothing will save you now… You'll go through the Gates of The Damned… But your body will be here, feeding me. You will be nothing more than another prisoner on the long road of Cleansing." It peered at him through hooded orbs. "Count to three, maggot, and it will all be over," cooed the Guardian with its grin.

His tears were flowing freely now. He closed his eyes as the beast's grip tightened savagely about his face.

* * *

Ooh, what can our delusional yet intrepid hero do to save himself, if at all? Find out in the next chapter 'Pride of the Family'.

Please R&R (it's not hard). Every writer likes to know what their readers think.


	6. I:v Pride of the Family

Disclaimers: Zidane and his pompous posse all belong to Squaresoft and its crippling add-on Enix.

But everything besides is mine.

Sorry for the late update, folks, cram-time has begun. That's my excuse.

* * *

CHAPTER V: PRIDE OF THE FAMILY

"Philippe!" The five folk were rushing about the upper levels, searching frantically for the lost Prince. Where was he? They had heard a terrible noise, but as of yet had found no indication of where it had come from.

They searched the attics once, twice, three times. Each searched revealed the same results, and the distraught Queen was at her breaking point. She had now lost both her husband, and her son. Why was this happening to her? Why now? Why at all? Exhausted and out of ideas, she trudged back to her chambers, while the others opted to continue looking for the young heir. She needed her rest. She needed to regain her strength, for she was sure she would need it, if the past was to repeat so unceremoniously.

- - -

The entire cavern shook with the same shock he had felt earlier, but that didn't matter to Philippe. He was preoccupied with the fact that he was going to die.

The Guardian had his face in a vicious hold, about to snap his head from his shoulders. "One…" it counted, grinning sadistically. "Two…" The grip tightened.

Nothing happened. Where was 'three'? What? Was the monster toying with him yet again? Through bleeding vision he could see the thing, staring off into the distance, yellow eyes half rolled back into the head. "…Mmmaaasssttteeerrr…" it hissed softly, releasing the Prince. It stood up, face in its hands, making strange noises. After a moment of shaking and muttering to itself, it finally came out of its reverie, eyes wild, but its grin utterly gone. He grabbed the tailed Prince by the front of his clothing, hefting him up to stare him right in the eye. "Speak, wretch!" it demanded. "Why are you here? Tell me!"

Philippe was a temporary loss. "I… I'm here… to save my father…"

"And?" it insisted impatiently. "What else?"

"I…" The world was growing dark at the edges. "I need to find… someone to help me… here… Name's Ah… Ama…" He choked on the blood pooling up his throat.

"Spit it out!"

"Amarant Coral," he managed.

The Guardian sneered evilly at him, eyes narrowing. "What?"

The Prince could hardly see, there was so much blood in his eyes. "Supposed to help… friend of father…"

"You wish to see… _It?_" the thing questioned, tilting its head to one side almost unhealthily, teeth bared. "I'm surprised… that you, worm, know that name." It held the Prince out at arm's length with one burly hand. A soft green glow materialised from its free, right hand, warm and comforting. The Guardian waved the ball of light over the heir's broken and beaten form. Philippe felt his wounds heal, his bones set, and his health return. What… did this thing just heal him? He was more than just a little confused. It set him down, still eyeing him with contempt. It extinguished the healing light. It scrutinised him from under its dreadlocks, sizing him up a second time. "Go get your sword," it ordered.

Philippe blinked dumbly, but obeyed. His blade was resting almost at the opposite end of the sickeningly white cavern, glimmering under the sourceless light. He sheathed the weapon carefully, still rather stunned at how easily he had been beaten to a pulp. Did all his training truly amount to nothing? He checked his supplies. Two of the potions had cracked and spilled during the fight, but everything else seemed o be fine. The book was still intact, though he was beginning to wonder if he would be able to last long enough to make reference to its pages again after this.

And just why did the creature spare his life and heal him? He peered over his shoulder. It was watching him carefully, tall and imposing. What had stopped it? He made his way back, unsure of what to do.

"You have everything?" the Guardian questioned tersely.

"Yes."

It almost seemed to cringe at his voice, as if it was painful to hear. "Fine. Come with me." It turned tail and headed for the massive scarlet doors that were the Gates of The Damned. The wood and metal looked wet, as if the very doors themselves were somehow bleeding. Veins of pulsing rot interwove about the Gates' edges, reaching out over the ivory rock like a venerable disease. High above the Gates and their supporting arch of stone, was a curved plate of tarnishing brass, with words painted upon them with a nameless bumpy brown paint of some kind. He hoped it wasn't what he thought it was.

"_Lasciate ogne speranza, vio ch__'__intrate_," recited the grey skinned thing. It grinned. "_Abandon all hope, ye who enter here_." It peered at him. "That is what is inscribed above you. You're about to enter a holy place, christened with the blood and tears of sinners across every land, every ocean, and every sky."

"Are you going to help me?" he questioned hurriedly. With a creature like this at his side, he would be able to find and free the King without any trouble at all!

It curled its lip in repulsion at him. "What do you think, wretch? Of course not. I have no reason to help you in whatever pathetic endeavour you have entrusted yourself with. I have better things to entertain my time with. No, I'm only taking you so far, after that, you're on your own." It turned on its heel in a disgusted manner. Without hardly a push from the Guardian's hand the Gates swung open with a deafening bang, the entire chamber shaking and rumbling as the slabs of colossal wood and bolted metal swung inwards to admit them entry into the darkest of fears. "This way," said the thing, stepping through without so much as looking at the Prince.

Philippe gave once last look around, swallowed his doubts, and stepped into the impregnable dark.

- - -

Things weren't shaping up for the remaining castle guests. The Pluto Captain, with every Knight under his command, had swept the grounds, but had yet to find any clues as to who or what could have initiated such a terrible turn in events.

Freya was pacing angrily by herself in the courtyard, where the others were quietly sitting in their own corners, trying to think up some solution to their problem. She kept from swearing to herself in her anger. Why were they all denying the truth? She knew what was going on, but everyone else was playing blind! This was no accident, even a drunk man could see that. It seemed more than obvious to her that their 'friend' had long since had enough of playing nice with them all, and was now more than eager to test his newfound powers on the innocent.

It made her angry, furious.

She had always hated the man, from the moment she had met him on the shores of the Alexandria moat. His cocky demeanour, his arrogance… there was little about him that didn't somehow raise absolute Hell in her mind. How Zidane had managed to put any form of trust in that ape of a being she would never know.

They were missing a vital clue, and she knew it. Giving a sideways glance to her companions she gave herself leave, heading back to the castle. Though she didn't carry her pike, her poise and grim expression kept anyone wishing to question her at bay. Her red cloak had been remade several times now from the constant damage it would receive from the battles she had fought during her patrols. If that wasn't enough testimony to her prowess and fierceness, her more and ample scars would do the talking instead.

She ascended the wide staircases to the upper levels. She wasn't doing this just for Zidane, the former thief could look after himself, as he had proven to her many years ago. No. She was mostly doing this for herself. She wanted to get to the bottom of this. She had a family now. Frately was her husband, and between them they had begotten four children. She had no intensions of letting this new threat into the world for the sake of her children.

Of course, Frately never regained his memory of his or her past, which had driven a stake between them more than once. She had been apprehensive of their union, but had been more than happy to oblige the man in his want to appease the wounds they both shared. It occasionally seemed as though the bond they held was hollow, bound by only pity and insecurity. The Dragon Knight brushed the thoughts from her mind, clenching her fists. She had been told that she, since they had returned… from that place… had become more violent, more prone to rage, than she had been in her younger years before Kuja's fall. She had never acknowledged such a suggestion, nor did she care. Sure, she started a few more fights than she used to, but that didn't change who she was.

Freya reached the attics quickly enough, scrutinising the area with a trained emerald eye. The Prince had been up here, she could tell. He had come up, but he had never come back down. She knelt and felt at the old wood with the tips of her calloused fingers. She was well-versed in tracking and reading the passing of others. The steps of the Prince stood out starkly to her senses, telling her everything. He had been up here four times since the day before, twice with the King, and twice alone. The last set, the fourth were leading in, with no accompanying set leading back out. He must still be up here somewhere, then.

She got up from the ground and began her search.

- - -

Darkness enveloped the Prince, blinding him. He nearly shouted, but the shadows quickly melted away, pulling away from him like a venerable slime. He staggered slightly, thrown off-balance slightly from the shift. He peered about him. Where was he now? A hall of earthy-toned, polished stone and marble stretched out in all directions, with tall pillars rising in calculated intervals in every direction. He looked behind him. The doors, the Gates of The Damned, were nowhere to be seen.

A soft, derisive snort sounded beside him. That's right, he still had the Guardian's company. He turned to look at the being. It sneered at him through its one visible hooded eye, the other lost behind a curtain of messy dreads. "You're so easily startled," it commented dryly. It turned and started down between their current row of pillars. "It's rather amusing."

Taking the other's short speech as incentive to follow, the Prince hurried after the beast. He studied his 'guide' as he walked, trying to figure its angle out. It carried itself with an air not unlike that of a Knight, confined and dignified. He noticed that there were what looked to be gems of some kind welded to its body just above the shoulders and on its back between them. One was green, another was red, and the last blue. He stared at this new discovery, momentarily lost.

"Stop staring," said the thing, not bothering to look back. "Gawk at something else, or I'll really give you something to stare at." Philippe gasped lightly and adverted his gaze to the ceiling. The Guardian laughed quietly to itself, grinning wide. Imposing fear was always just so much fun.

The only lighting of this new location was given by purple flames dancing high above their heads, held up on high by ornate cages of metal hanging by chains from the ceiling. Not wanting to be left in the dark if his 'guide' was going to try to pull a fast one, he pulled the scarlet tome from his pack, flipping to the table of contents for any ideas, starting where he had left off.

_- Concerning The Penetration Of Hell -_

_- Concerning The Nature Of Hell's Guardian: Bargaining And Negotiating Entry -_

He frowned slightly. There was a chapter on the beast that was now leading him through an endless hallway? He nearly screamed for all his worth. If he had taken the time to read, he probably wouldn't have had to have gone through half of the pain he had to endure to get this far. He ignored it in frustration.

_- Concerning The Navigation Of Hell -_

Much better. He read silently, glancing up through the edge of his vision to make sure the thing wouldn't try to pull anything.

_The navigating of the Hells is ae rightfully daunting task notte meante forre the weak of heart or minde. If one manages to gaine entry into The Infernoe that rests behind the jaws of Hell's greatest animalle, one must keep ae constant eye about them, forre there are many nameless traps ande threats spaced all ande everywhere. Just beyonde the Gates Of The Damned lays Hell's foyer, the Endless Inferium. This place is ae hallway that reaches foreverre in every directionne, save one. Once emerging fromme the darkness of the Gates, one must remain on ae single course of forwarde. Any deterring from this path will render the traveller permanently lost, ande no magicks of any kinde will free them._

_The walk is long, meant to break intruders throughe exhaustion ande insanity before reaching Hell's firste Level, that of Pride. The end of the Endless Inferium will be signified by ae pair of great stone Angels standing guarde by the doors leading to Pride. One will be armed with ae sword, impaling itself, the other nailed to the ground by ae spiralled stake throughe its foote._

Philippe looked up from his reading. The Guardian was still ahead of him, leading him on a constant trail forward. The end of the 'Endless Inferium' was nowhere in sight, and his legs were already getting tired.

_One must be careful when in the Inferium. The exhaustionne that overtakes ae traveller is false. In The Infernoe there is no sense of exhaustionne, forre there is no rest forre the wicked. The tiredness of one's feet is ae illusionne made by the founders of the Hells to prevent unlawful penetration by theirre many enemies. If one falls to slumber whilst in the Endless Inferium, they will neverre wake, ande will waste away to dust._

Jeez, these people must hate visitors. Just what was the big deal? There were still no giant angel statues anywhere, so returned his attention to the aged pages, hoping, if anything, to pass the time.

_One must realise that time passing in Hell is differente thanne in the Mortal Realms. The Infernoe is notte based on what moste would deem as accepted reality. Hell, Limbo, ande the Heavens operate on theirre owne terms of existence, which overpowers all other forms of existence. The only way to tell the passing of time in the Hells is to carrie ae hourglass crafted especially forre the Realm one heralds fromme. Without it, one will ne'er knowe howe long they had been absent fromme theirre homes ande loved ones. Also, if one does not carrie ae hourglass with which to keep the properre time, the Hells will beginne to play tricks upon the traveller, altering the passing of time forre its amusement. This may be most threatening forre those searching forre family or friends that have beene possessed by ae Demon spirit, which the time limit will always remain three days before the soul's permanent losse._

_The hourglass is the only itemme that may keep accurate time in The Infernoe. Clocks of any calibre will either stoppe, runne backwards, or spinne at unnatural speeds in ae patternless course._

Whoever built this place was a sadist. The Prince didn't have a pocket watch or anything of the sort, and he most certainly didn't have an hourglass tuned to the passing of Gaia's time. If what this book was telling him was true, then he needed to get his hands on one as quickly as possible. He didn't want to accidentally damn his father to eternal wandering without a body because he had taken too long a nap. He put the book away.

Looking up he saw a wall, with a second set of red doors and a pair of angels guarding them. They had reached the end. "Finally…" he breathed. The Guardian gave him a sharp glance of annoyance over the back of its grey shoulder. He almost gave in to the urge to question 'What?'

As the book had told him, the Angels stationed by the doors were engaged in their own forms of torment. One nailed to the earth with no hope of escape, the other stabbing itself through the chest in despair. Both had broken halos of stone encircling their heads. Whether the rings of rock were broken from age or by design he couldn't tell. The scarlet doors before the two beings were just as red and bloody as the Gates before them, but where strings of rot had resided before, veins of flesh had taken residence, pulsing about the immediate walls and around the metal that held the doors together. Above the arch was bolted another tarnishing plate of brass, inscribed with the words '_Eht Sluos Fo Eht Lufedirp Tser Ylon Ereh_.' What weird language was that?

The Guardian went up to the doors and gave him a glance. "It reads 'The Souls Of The Prideful Rest Only Here'."

Philippe had had enough. "How do you know I even wanted to know that? Are you reading my mind or something?" he demanded.

The grey skinned creature smirked at him in a way that he swore he had seen before. "No, I can't read your mind," it informed him with a mocking tone. "The stupefied look on your face says everything."

The Prince gawped at the creature, insulted.

"Close that big mouth of yours," said the Guardian with a grin. "Its so wide that a vulture is bound to sit in it. Then you'll be spewing shit in more ways than one."

The heir snapped his mouth shut for lack anything better to do he was so flustered. How… how dare this thing talk to him in such a tone! He was heir to the Alexandrian throne! No-one treated him this way! The monster merely laughed at him and gave the doors a push. With the same bang as before the slabs of wood swung smoothly inward, some few veins getting caught in the movement and stretched to their limit. They broke as the doors finally came to rest. Still sniggering at the Prince's expense, the Guardian stepped into the curtain of black resting behind the doors. Still irritated, the tailed youth followed after it.

- - -

Steiner was clanking about the grounds, checking and double-checking everything. The King had been abducted, and he was on the lookout for any clues as to where he could be. He was hearing things about portals and evil spirits, but he didn't believe a whit of it. Everything had a logical explanation, you just had to look. Sometimes the clues were small, sometimes they were right in front of your face. The man in armour had a fair amount of experience concerning such things, and intended to use every ounce of his knowledge to the preservation of the royal bloodline he had betrothed his fate to countless years ago.

His priorities were to find any indication if someone had managed to break into the castle, locating the King and the recently missing Prince were a close second. What was the point of bringing them back if the problem of their disappearance wasn't solved? They could be taken away just as quickly as before if the culprits who planned this weren't stopped at the root of their tricks, which would be their way in.

But the castle was impregnable! There was no way--wait! He snapped to attention. He put a hand to his head in exasperation. How could he had forgotten? He clanked away at breakneck speed, heading for the building's lower levels.

- - -

Just like before, the darkness slid away within seconds, leaving the Prince in a new location, with no sign of the doors he had just gone through in sight. The Guardian was still with him, looking out over the new landscape.

No sooner than they had arrived, a tremor, much those that had rocked the white cavern, shook the earth with monstrous force, nearly knocking the heir to the ground. He fought to stay standing. The quake faded relatively quickly, leaving the two beings to regain their balance. What was causing these quakes? Did Hell have a tectonic plate problem or something? He steadied himself and peered over the new horizon. He hated what he saw.

The ground and sky was nearly red, a deep orange tinge prevailing everywhere. Impossibly black monoliths of rock speared out of the blasted earth, looking like the teeth of some felled beast. A black, ugly smear on the far horizon blared out at him, taunting him with its grossness. "Geh…" he spat. "What's that over there?" he questioned his guide.

The Guardian gave him a sideways glance. "That, 'over there', is Mis, the capital of Pride." It made a motion with its arm. "This way." It started walking across the cracked and starving earth towards the unsightly blemish on the horizon.

Philippe sighed and followed after it, noticing half-heartedly that whatever exhaustion he had felt earlier in the Endless Inferium was gone.

The trek to the 'city's' edge was long and rather painful. Just how the creature that was leading him through all this could possibly stand walking over the baking ground without shoes was dumbfounding the Prince. There was no sun, per-se, up above, but it was hotter, much hotter, than he felt comfortable with. In place of the golden orb of warmth, was a swirling vortex of whatever the 'sky' was made of. It looked somewhat like liquid rock.

As the two walked another tremor wove through the landscape, rattling everything. This time Philippe was unprepared for the quake. Losing his footing on the pebbles and gravel, he tumbled to one side. Flailing slightly he landed against his companion, grasping a hold of the creature to prevent from falling completely to the ground. The Cerberean Guardian stood still while the Prince righted himself, looking anything but pleased. It continued forward afterwards without comment.

They stopped before the city gates of Mis. Philippe stared up at the incredible monoliths of security, covering his eyes as his gaze meandered farther and farther upwards. The gates were humungous. They were so tall he couldn't properly see the top. The Guardian stood before the monstrous slabs of steel, looking up momentarily before edging off to the side. With a single fist it banged on the tempered, black metal. Unseen to the Prince's eyes, but clear to those of the monster Guardian, a head, belonging to an inhuman sentry, popped over the edge in question. "_Ohw seog?_" shouted the sentry, spear in hand.

"What's that?" questioned the Prince.

"Shut up, I'm talking," said the burly thing. The Prince made a face but kept quiet. "_Eht Naidraug! I tseuqer na eceidua htiw eht Rednuof!_" it shouted back at the sentry, hands cupped about its mouth.

"_Eht Retsam? Eht Rednouf sees on-eno!_" retorted the sentry.

The thing shifted its feet and rolled its yellow eyes. "_Er'uoy gniog ot tel su ni! Yb ym redro!_" it shouted. "_I evah a tseug rof eht Rednouf that Ti t'now tnaw ot peek gnitiaw!_"

The creature on the gate passed a glance about its post. "_Dna tahw tseug thgim siht eb?_" the guard shouted back.

The grey, tailed thing gave Philippe a once-over. "_A kaerf morf eht Retho Edis! Ti sah ssenisub htiw eht Rednuof!_"

The sentry seemed to become more suspicious. "_Eht Rehto Edis? Elbissopmi! On latrom si dewolla ereh!_"

Philippe had no idea of what was going on. What kind of language was being spoken? Whatever it was, it hurt his ears something fierce. But why? How would mere speech cause such pain?

The sentry and the Guardian continued to argue back and forth, until at last, the burly, collared creature won against the other. Grinning in triumph, it ploughed over to the Prince. With a groaning of metal the massive gates swung open slowly, opening just enough to allow the two entry. Philippe hesitated before the crevasse leading into the city's interior, staring up and through it in awe. Growing impatient, his guide grabbed his arm and hauled him through.

He kept close to the Guardian as they walked through the streets of Mis. Philippe was appalled at what he could see crawling about the open space. Charred husks of humans and other sentient creatures shambled about the beaten streets, moaning and chattering incoherently. More than once several of the things made for them, hissing horribly. Philippe was frozen in disgust and fear as the things slowly surrounded him. Were these… people? The faces, despite the damage done to them, were… human. Some, he swore, were Burmecian. What happened to these folk? There were so many around him that he couldn't see the street. Nor could he spot his supposed guide. Multitudes of charred hands reached for him, charcoal fingers curling against the stagnant air weighing down upon them. With nowhere to run and no way to defend himself he called out to the Guardian he knew was still around. Surely the thing would help him even now?

Much to Philippe's relief, the grey Guardian came to his rescue. The skinny beings were reduced to kindling with one swipe of its fists, bits and pieces of blackened flesh and bone flying in every direction. Philippe shouted as an especially long set of fingers grabbed a hold of his hair and started to pull his head backwards. His assailant's head was swiftly ploughed from its shoulders with one swing of the Guardian's arm, making it release its prisoner. Beaten and broken the crowed of hideous beings were driven away, still peering at the youth with an alien hunger Philippe hoped he would never see again.

The Guardian gave him a sock in the arm, nearly bowling him over. "What's the matter with you?" it questioned angrily. "You have a sword, use it! I warn you now, I have no obligations to protect you. The mere fact that the Prideful Damned here have no right to enjoy themselves with the taking of living flesh is the sole reason I came to you." It stood over him menacingly. "Watch your step next time, for I may choose to ignore your pathetic cries for help," it hissed.

Philippe took the point, though he was oddly confident that the creature wouldn't abandon him like it threatened it would. Why would it have lead him here if it truly had no reason to care? He followed after it as it restarted its trek down the streets of Mis, keeping his eyes peeled for any more of the 'Damned'.

There were scores upon scores of the charred figures, all shuffling and moaning about purposelessly. Some tried to advance on the Prince more than once, but were stopped by the tailed heir's unhappy bodyguard. At long last Philippe could see their destination. A massive construction, a fortress of some kind, as it rose up from the city's center, its countless spires piercing the sky without mercy. He couldn't tell how far it was from their position, but he had a faint idea. It would be a while.

The Prince was right in his unspoken regard. Just how long it had actually taken them to reach the building's very shadow took what felt to be an eternity. By now the Prince could see that the edifice's build was nothing short of monstrous. Indeed, it was a fortress in every sense of the word. He swore it was so huge as to rival the sizes of Gaia's three largest royal castles combined. He felt cold and helpless in the fortress' presence, as if it were watching him. In a way he was right; great, lidless eyes glared out from the building's many spires, keeping watch over all that was laid before them. Faint spots of light played upon the cobble stones that had long since replaced the beaten dirt, signifying to the careful observer where the eyes were sweeping. The tall iron gates separating the fortress' courtyard from the rest of the dismal city were wide open, beckoning them forward. The Guardian didn't even break its stride, marching right into the bleak yard beyond the twisted metal gates. Philippe followed with reluctance, hoping, for not the first time, hat he wasn't doing something stupid. What if he was being lead into a trap? What if he was to be captured and tortured by whoever dwelled within? He briefly entertained the idea of going back and running for his life. His thoughts were shot down however, when he heard the gates swing shut behind them on greased hinges.

The courtyard was even more bleak than the city outside. The stone was grey, and there wasn't a shred of vegetation in sight. The only splash of colour was the equally depressing 'sky', and it wasn't helping at all. That, and, once again, a set of scarlet double doors sitting closed within the fortress' stone.

Philippe made his way up the agate steps, where the Guardian was waiting before the door. It gave him a look that said 'You're so _slow_!' He resisted the urge to make a face at it in retaliation.

Satisfied that he had managed to reach the doors, the Guardian reached to the side and grasped an ugly, black tassel made of metal and small hooks attached to an equally ugly chain. It gave it a harsh pull. Philippe covered his ears as a cacophony of broken iron bells rang throughout the edifice, making his head reverberate painfully. With a final, loud, low toll the ringing stopped. Finished, the doors opened with an ominous groan and scrape, revealing an interior hidden by shadow. The Prince's guide made a motion for him to step inside. He massaged his ears back to life. "You… you're coming too, right?" he inquired.

It rolled its eyes at him. "Of course, you pansy. Now move or I'll give you a reason to move."

Blinking dumbly he obeyed, stepping in first.

The interior was utterly black. The only thing breaking the bleak continuum was a long, regal carpet of red lined with gold thread, leading off into the darkness. The hall, interspersed with massive, ornate columns of agate and onyx, was seemingly endless with the near complete lack of light. The Guardian lead him in a continuous direction down the straight red carpet, not saying another word. The feeling of being watched, scrutinised, never faded, if anything, it became stronger with every step taken. Just what was watching him so shamelessly? He felt incredibly naked here, as if he could hide nothing; he was exposed unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He hated it.

So distracted was the Prince that he didn't notice that his guide had stopped walking. He bumped unceremoniously into the creature's bulk, earning yet another glare of disapproval. He looked around in hopes of warding the penetrating glare away. He quickly lost himself in the sights as he realised they were in a place completely unlike the hallway he was sure they had only just entered.

Everything was red. Red velvet drapes, red gleaming metal, red marble tiles lined with rose stone, a red cushioned throne. The sheer power of the colour was enough to make his eyes smart. On top of that, everything was spit-polished to an incredible shine. The only other colour was gold, and the throne was seemingly crafted entirely from it. That, and what was sitting on it.

The tailed Prince could feel his heart struggle to beat he was so afraid. The figure was mostly shadowed and lost to view, but what little he could see sent shivers up his spine. The low sounds of slow breathing told him that whatever was sitting there was fast asleep.

Motioning for Philippe to stay where he was, the Guardian stepped forward cautiously, keeping a good distance between itself and the thing on the incredibly lavish throne. It seemed to have lost much of its confidence. As it cleared it throat, it knelt in respect before it spoke. "_Retsam, ruoy tnavres skees ruoy ecneidua_," it announced reverently. The Prince was sure he could hear an undertone of fear. The low, rhythmic breathing hitched slightly, becoming slightly louder and higher in pitch. A new shower of cold washed over the heir as two slits of pure, emerald green materialised in the darkness, creating a small aura of light. In the very center of the two green pools he could make out vile-looking, vertical slit pupils. The Guardian remained kneeling. "_Retsam_." Its voice, once so menacing, was shaking.

The thing on the shadowed throne peered about, scrutinising the closest of its guests with a low rumble of displeasure. "_Zru…_" it growled. "_Rof tahw nosaer od uoy emoc ereh?_" it questioned with a shameless air of superiority and disgust. "_Uoy evah on ecalp ni siht esuoh_," it slavered.

The Guardian knelt down further. "_Drol fo Edirp_," it addressed hurriedly, "_I evah thguorb uoy a tseug. Ti sah emoc a gnol yaw ot kaeps thiw uoy._"

Glaring at the grovelling creature before it, the ruling figure, as Philippe guessed, reverted its gaze to peer at him. He unwisely met the green stare. A shock of pure hopelessness scored through his body, rendering him blind, deaf, mute, and without feeling. All there was, was a horrible cold that didn't quite seem to be there, yet surrounded him. All he could see were the eyes, boring a hole into him. They looked so familiar… where had he seen them before…? He broke out of his shell as the creature began to yell.

"_Tahw evah uoy enod?!_" it shouted at the Guardian. Philippe slowly regained his senses, the horrible gaze torn away from his person. His head felt incredibly light, and his eyes wouldn't focus. He felt so drained… "_Loof!_" The thing on the throne got up and stormed towards the grey creature. The Prince couldn't see, everything was a blur; neither could he hear the shouts. But the thing that had been sitting on the throne, was huge… a giant… taller than the Guardian by at least a foot. Through his rapidly blackening vision all he could see was the thing grabbing the Prince's guide by the throat, still shouting. Its blurred face was surrounded by red.

The cottony sound was steadily reduced to nothing, and his sight fell away into tunnel vision, slowly closing up around him. He fell to the ground, unable to stand any longer, to be enveloped by darkness mercilessly.

- - -

She had searched the attic, with no success in finding either the Prince, or his hideaway. The tracks would simply disappear from her view, no matter where she looked, or how careful she was. It seemed to be random. She would find a trail she'd be sure she hadn't noticed before, but lose the tracks she had just been following, though she would know exactly where they were. She had the definite feeling that something was working against her, trying to keep her from finding what she wanted.

Freya was generally able to keep a level head in all situations, but this was slowly exposing her carefully buried nerves. But she didn't give up; she continued her search, knowing that she must be close to something, anything. She retraced her first steps, working along all the debris as carefully as she could.

After another half hour of fruitless searching she sat herself down on an unused dresser, evaluating the complete lack of information she had managed to gather. Leaning back she upset something tall and rectangular resting against the wall. Dust flew everywhere as a large white cloth fell to the white wooden floor. The Dragon Knight looked behind her in irritation. This was why she hated attics. There was so much…

That portrait! She scowled fiercely. The painting, of all of them, that she had always hated so much, was staring her straight in the face. Or, more importantly, the object of her eternal rage was staring her straight in the face. "You…" she hissed to the portrait, getting up to stand in front of it. Her emerald gaze was pinned to the bulky figure standing behind the man they had just lost, smirking at her without shame. "This is all your fault…" she accused quietly, glaring at the painting. "You did this, didn't you?" The pale, disproportionate man in the painting said nothing, still smirking that eternal smirk.

The fabricated figure's green stare met hers with such a morbid air of dignity that she nearly snapped. Even when made with mere coloured oils, she could never meet that horrid gaze. She lifted a clawed hand, nails out. Huffing as if out of breath she rested her fine claws against the painted canvas. Oh how she wanted to destroy it, wipe this horrible man from the face of the earth and leave nothing behind. Such a monster should never be allowed to be remembered as a hero. No… never a hero. A monster. A beast. An animal. Anything but _human_. It was his fault. All of it. Zidane was gone because of him. The Prince was gone because of him. She knew it. There was no reason for her to think otherwise.

She flexed her claws, willing herself with all her might to just sink her nails into the canvas and destroy what was set before her. She didn't care if what she did had repercussions. For all intents and purposes, the King, her friend, should never had fought to have him remembered. He was never there for the portrait, wasn't there for the King and Queen's marriage, wasn't there for the Prince's birth. No, he was somewhere else, somewhere unspeakable.

Freya hated him for it. She wanted to hurt him for it.

But she couldn't.

For all her rage she couldn't bring herself to tear the image. It had been up here for countless years on order of the Queen, who couldn't bear to look at it. No-one would notice! Then why was she hesitating? The smirk bored into her, mocking her.

She pulled her hand away in a fist. "You bastard," she said to the painting. "I'll have your head; mark my words…" She promptly picked the cover up from the ground and draped it back onto the portrait and stormed out, in an even fouler mood than when she had been when she had first come up.

- - -

The Gargan Roo was as bleak and unkept as it had been for the past one hundred years.

Steiner swept the area, clanking over every inch of stone he could reach. For his age, the man was incredibly fit and steadfast; there were few men who could rival his endurance prowess.

He was on the lookout for any signs of recent use. Not since Garnet had become Queen had the tunnels been accessed, and not many Knights were stationed there for security. The Captain berated himself. How foolish! How could he let such a thing go so unguarded? His displeasure rose impossibly as he found what he wanted.

The great, dead roots of the once formidable Iifa Tree were scraped clean of moss from the top, a clear indication that a Gargant had come through not too long ago. No Gargant would come this way by choice, since there was a small waterfall deeper within the tunnel that had developed of late, warding the creatures away. Someone must have forced it.

But when? How? He may have found the way their culprit had entered, but the old Knight couldn't think of any way to track the criminal down. There were thousands of Gargant tunnels beneath the earth; it would be impossible to try and trace their target's exact path. And even then, there were even more places he or she could have gone afterwards aboveground.

Steiner put a hand to his chin in contemplation. Who could have taken the King? For what reason? Neither the King or Queen had any enemies that he could think of. Maybe it was some rebel group, some disgruntled peasants. Perhaps it was a noble? He sighed to himself. There were too many possibilities to consider. On top of that, the only other clue he had was the soot used to blemish the marble beneath the King's chair in the Dining Hall. It wasn't really a clue. There was nothing they could do with the soot. Soot was everywhere. It could have come from any place on Gaia, and anyone could have used it.

All this bothered Steiner. He didn't like having so little to work with. And just what if this madperson came back?

He would step up the guard, double shifts for everyone. The Queen had to be protected. He would send search parties about the city to see if anything was out of place, ask the folk if there had been any signs of discontent around town. He would get to the bottom of this transgression against the Alexandrian royalty, and he would erase the threat with all the power at his disposal.

- - -

His body felt oddly stiff, and his eyelids felt as though they were made of lead. He shifted slightly, feeling a soft material covering his body. Was he in bed?

Had all of this been a dream?

Philippe rubbed at his eyes to ward away the lingering sleep, sitting up on the mattress. Was this satin beneath him? Odd… He didn't have satin for sheets. Opening a bleary eye he swept his chamber. Why was everything red? His room wasn't red.

The tailed Prince froze, eyes going wide as his memory finally faded back.

The same overpowering shade of red surrounded him on all sides. Red drapes, red curtains, red sheets, red pillows… all of it, red, with minute gold lining. What… what happened? How did he get here? He wracked his brain for answers.

He had fainted, in what he was sure to have been some kind of throne room. That… thing, had looked at him and then everything had gone black. Was he dead? Had he been taken prisoner?

"_I see that you are awake…_" came a voice.

The startled youth looked about frantically, already at his wits' end.

"_Don't fret, you are safe here, for I have no reason to dispose of you._"

This didn't entirely make the Prince feel any better. He continued to search for the source of the voice.

"_If you believe yourself capable_," said the voice, "_you may search for me, as I have been told you request my audience. But be forewarned, Prince, that if you waste my time with trivial things, I will ensure you a most unfortunate visit. You will find me within the smelting chambers of my Fortress. The carpet will lead you there. Do not try my patience_."

Philippe swallowed heavily. Pushing himself out of the alien bed he discovered his supplies laying neatly upon the floor, untouched. He quickly checked himself. He was still fully clothed, and unharmed. Retrieving his belongings he made for the chamber door, silently wishing he hadn't let his lacking brawn direct his actions back in the Castle. That voice, though… it sounded familiar…

The doors of the room opened of their own accord, admitting him out into the insanely dark hallways of agate and pitch. The bloody red carpet blared out from the shadow with just as much ferociousness as before, drawing him towards it like a magnet. The door to the chamber swung shut behind him swiftly and quietly, melding into the blackness seamlessly. He stepped towards the carpet, the only splash of colour in this dismal abyss, feeling stranded and blind. With very little confidence left within him he stood motionless on the stripe of scarlet, hoping to find his 'gracious' host before his dawdling got him killed. He looked down both bright roads provided by the bright ribbon of stainless velvet, hoping to find the best way to where the lord of this place would meet with him. To his right the carpet abruptly ended in shadow, fading away unnaturally fast into black. To his left the single line of highly treated cloth spanned forever, never loosing its incredible hue. Figuring that was the way to go, he turned his back to the shadows and advanced at a cautious pace down the red line.

As he walked he steadily became more and more uneasy. Darkness, impregnable in every sense of the word, surrounded him in every direction, always so close all around except on the carpet's path. The blackness seemed to creep after him, blotting out the way he had come continuously. There was clearly no turning back.

From the corner of his eye he would catch glimpses of strange forms, grey and amorphous, scuttling about the shadows. Some, he swore, would look at him with a flare of hatred before vanishing. Chatterings sounded from the darkness in faint whispers, making his ears ach. Other sounds, nameless and indescribable, also could be heard once every so often. How they would make his skin crawl! He hoped he would get out of this place soon. He regretted every step he had taken already, and he didn't even know where his father was, still! He had to persevere! He would save his father, the king!

A dull glow began to form far ahead of him, accompanied by soft screechings and grindings of metal. The temperature was steadily rising. Was he getting close? He hoped so. He just wanted to find that man, get his help, and get the heck out. But would this ruling creature let him speak with him?

The red glow was getting stronger with every step, the noises getting louder and the heat more intense. At the carpet's end the sick glow suddenly surrounded the Prince, temporarily blinding him. He lifted his arms to shield his eyes, inching forward cautiously, stopping cold upon finding that the carpet could no longer be felt beneath his feet. Oh no! He had lost the way! All the red cleared, revealing to him steadily a vast cavern of levelled metal and black cogs. Veins of fresh molten metal poured from countless vats hanging from the ceilings and ebony pipes jutting from the walls. Before him was a balcony offering a flawless view of the black machinery working below and above, rimmed with a high rail. And standing there, back to the Prince, was an immense figure, hooded and robed and impossibly tall. Was this the thing he had seen earlier on the throne? Attacking the creature that had brought him here? Swallowing his fear Philippe edged towards the being, moving silently in hopes of not somehow jolting it out of some reverie and making it angry.

"_So, you've come,_" it said suddenly.

Philippe started, surprised. He walked up to the thing with a bit more confidence.

It angled its vision over its broad, robed shoulder, pinning the youth with a fiery green eye. The Prince nearly lost consciousness for a second time as the hopelessness washed over him in the same wave as before. What a gaze! It couldn't be natural, to impose such bleakness upon a person with a mere glance. Then again, there was nothing really _natural_ here. "_Step lightly, Prince, I don't have the time to wait for your childish fears to subside_." Philippe doubled his pace to stand before the towering figure, looking out over the mish-mashing of machine and molten elements. He peered at the creature standing beside him discretely from the corner of his vision, keeping well away from the hidden face. Red robes, oddly dull in colour, fell all about its large frame. The cloth seemed off, as if it were not made of fabric at all. Rings spotted with incredibly large jewels adorned the long-nailed fingers, glittering almost unhealthily. And the skin! He had to steel himself against retching, it was so discoloured and thin. The flesh pulled over the hands and fingers grossly, looking more like brittle clay more than anything, ready to snap at any moment and leave the bones bare. "_If you are done examining my person, care to enlighten me as to why you have breached upon my domain so lawlessly?_" inquired the being, making Philippe jump.

Going red in the face, he tried to gather his nerve. "I-I have c-come seeking help," he stammered. Why did he feel so out of breath? The voice… was different for some reason. It sounded… affected, as if it wasn't real.

The tall thing snorted. "_Help? We don't offer such services here, Prince, you are wasting my time_."

Going cold, he ploughed forward. "Wait! My father! He was possessed! He's down here somewhere! I need to find him!" he cried. "I was told there was someone here that would help me bring him back!"

It made a slight face beneath the concealing hood. "_No need to shout, whelp_," it informed him tersely. "_Is that so? Who told you? Who would help you?_"

Philippe swallowed for the third time, hoping he wasn't treading on thin ice. "A-a man. Friends of my father mentioned a b-bounty hunter of some kind," he said nervously, sweating. The thing seemed to straighten slightly. "He was a close friend of my f-father's--"

"_Who?_" it demanded evenly.

The Prince was sweating bullets. "I th-think his name was a-Amarant c-Coral." He shifted uneasily. "I-I was hoping to f-find him…"

"_Is that so?_" It chuckled darkly. The tailed heir's skin was growing gooseflesh faster than he could cope. It suddenly turned and started down the balcony, leaving rumbles of laughter in its wake.

The youth stammered and quickly followed after the creature, unsure if whether or not it was safer than staying put. The metal walls, were they metal?, shifted and moulded as the larger being passed, warping and settling to create more doors or block old ones away. He could only just see shadowed figures, lithe and seemingly featureless, dart about the fringes of his vision, giving him a familiar yellow glare. What were these things?

A distinct smell of old decay wafted up to clog his nose. He resisted the urge to stumble and hurl in a corner. The stink was faint, but oddly powerful, like ginger.

And what about his father? Where was this thing taking him? Was it taking him to see the bounty hunter he had heard about? Maybe he would finally find and set his father free. The dim lighting intensified slightly, revealing all the more of his current surroundings. Philippe kept his gaze as restrained as possible, not wanting to become too lost in the hideous sights that he was sure were all around him. He wanted to remain as unscarred as possible throughout this trip. He looked up to his 'host', hoping to find some form of clue as to what could be going on. The limited light peeled a layer of secrecy from the being ahead of him, leading to a realisation that nearly floored the heir. The dull robe, sweeping the ground behind the taller being's walk, was not made of cloth at all. It looked to him like it was made of long strips of human flesh, sewn together with an ugly black twine. He staggered in his step.

The thing chuckled lightly in front of him.

What looked to be a carriage of some kind materialised out of the gloom. Four flames of violet fire danced atop the four brutal-looking spires at the corners, bathing the immediate area in an unhealthy glow. Two black steeds, their coats drawn tightly over their bones, waited at the construction's front, their reins held loosely in the hands of a cloaked figure with a whip. The host being stopped before the carriage's side, the door swung open of its own accord. It motioned to the Prince to enter, a shadowed, sly-looking grin playing over its features.

He chanced a question. "Where… where are you taking me?"

The grin deepened. "_You will soon see. Get in_," it ordered.

Philippe took a slight step back. A high hiss sounded behind him, telling the youth that the strange creatures he had glimpsed before were still around, waiting for him to slip up. "Are you going to help me or not?" he asked shakily, trying to reinstate his resolve.

The grin got wider. "_What choice do you have?_" it responded silkily. It lifted an arm to expose the gross weaving of its lavish robe sleeve. "_See this?_" it inquired. Philippe didn't move. "_This… is made from the hides of those who have tried my patience…_" it peered at him with its glowing green gaze. "_More than one noble has lost their skin to me…_" The grin faded instantly into a snarl. "_Get in_."

Compelled with fear, the Prince obeyed, scrambling in without second thought. With a guttural rumble the host followed after him, closing the door of the carriage behind it. Almost immediately the construction lurched forward, carrying the two off down the dark, gloomy tunnel.

"Where are you taking me?" Philippe questioned.

The monstrous thing had its eyes closed, mercifully, its large hands on its lap. It gurgled. "_I'm taking you to find your so-called 'helper'. You may go from my kingdom, but_," it held up a finger, "_only if you can locate the one you claim you seek. If not…_" it trailed off.

"If not… what?" he dared.

A sliver of green materialised within the hood. "_If not… you will remain here… with me… And there will be no escape. You will die here, and your soul will serve me thereafter for as long as I please_."

- - -

Getting sick of the faked Old-English yet? Tough!

More odd will be headed your way soon enough. In the mean time, R&R, please, I appreciate it.


	7. I:vi It's a Hellish Wonderland

Disclaimers: Zidane and his posse all belong to Squaresoft and that cancerous growth, Enix.

But everything besides is _mine_.

It's the holidays... might as well give an update. **If you haven't read _The Founder_**(the fic that was written before this one)** yet, now would be a good time to start**.

* * *

CHAPTER VI: IT'S A HELLISH WONDERLAND

Philippe felt cold. He was in up to his neck. There was a monster sitting across from him and he was being carted away in a carriage to some unknown place to look for a man he hoped to the highest power existed. If he couldn't find this person… he was doomed to stay here under the pretence of juvenile foolery.

He found himself wondering just how long he had been unconscious. A moment? An hour? More? Now he had even less time to search for and free his father. He peered out the wrought windows with a slight sigh. Black ribs of décor were speeding by outside, with a foreboding orange ambient light slowly growing towards the front of the carriage. Were they heading outside? Or a lit cavern of some kind? He didn't dare poke his head out to see, lest he get a face-full of something foul.

His 'host' was breathing heavily, hooded head thrown back against the upholstery. Was it asleep again? He gazed at it for a while, trying to see if it was playing a trick on him.

The thing didn't flinch in the slightest at his shameless eye. The Prince leaned forward slightly, trying to catch what was under the hood. Red ropes of what appeared to be some kind of cross between hair and flesh hung out from the shadowed cowl, draping over the shoulders and chest. But there wasn't enough light for the tailed heir to see the face. He sat back in exasperation. Just who was this character, anyway? Some Lord of Evil or something, obviously. Why else would it be down here, talking down to _him?_ He didn't like being talked down through the nose at. He was a Prince, and he expected to be treated highly by everyone. He resisted the urge to pout.

The Prince looked outside a second time. The tunnel hadn't really changed, though it seemed as though they were headed downwards on a slight inclination. What a boring ride. He gripped at his pack, feeling about its insides to make sure for the second time that everything was still there. His gloved hand rested on the guide last. He contemplated bringing it out. Maybe it would have something on his gracious 'host'? Making sure that the thing across from him was still sound asleep he dredged it out silently. He wanted to keep this little, well no quite so little, book secret. It could be the only thing that could give him the upper had in all this, and he didn't want that edge to be taken away from him. If there was a way to escape what this creature had in store for him if he failed to find this Coral person, he wanted to know it before worst came to worst.

_- Concerning Hell's Inhabitants: The Lordes ande Ambassadors Of The Underworlde -_

Still asleep.

_The flames of The Infernoe are managed by the Seven Lordes of Sin, the Four Ambassadors of Hell, ande, ultimately, the Darkest Lorde, ruler of all the Hells._

Blah blah blah… he skipped a few lines in impatience.

_The first Lorde that ae traveler will encounter upon theirre journey throughe The Infernoe is the Lorde Of Pride, also knowne as the Doppelganger Lorde, or Doppelganger Kyng. Those of its owne refer to it as The Founder. It is ae powerful beaste with legions upon legions of Demons under its commande. Pride's is the largest army of all of The Infernoe, capable of overtaking any Mortal Realm in mere moments time._

Philippe made an unhappy face, casting another glance to the thing in front of him. Great, he was in the company of some crazy warlord.

_As fearsome ae creature it is, the Doppelganger Lorde canne be reasoned with if one becomes captured. However, this ability to negotiate one's freedom depends ae greate deal on who, out of the one-thousande reincarnating Founders, is upon the throne. Moste are unforgiving upon trespassers, others are more lenient. The most vicious of them all is Ixxus, the Hater, who takes no prisoners. Any who are foolish enough to attempt entering Pride during its reign will immediately have their souls torne fromme theirre bodies and forced to serve under it for ae prolonged sentence. It often traverses its grounds in ae most horrible formme not unlike that of ae skinned humanne with the head of a goat. Another to avoid is Ismat, the Spiteful, who carries ae lasting grudge against the soulless inhabitants of ae red-spirited wandering planet. This Founder is told apart fromme its peers by its mismatched limbs ande broken face. Next is Homusit, the Poisoner, who takes great joy in slowly rending the flesh of its charges. Its formme is unlike those of its temperamental kin, often bubbling with noxious oozes and chords of unknown metals. Second in cruelty only to Ixxus is Isxunhek, the Warmonger ande successor to Ismat, it is ae creature obsessed with bringing paine ande building obscene instruments of destruction. Its form is amorphous and black, with only ae fearsomme pair of green eyes to pick it out of the darkness that always surrounds it._

The tailed Prince was losing any form of hope in getting out of this ugly place. At least, as far he could tell, his host didn't look like the few listed in the book. If he could just see under that hood…

The carriage slowed to a stop and the creature shifted in its seat. Sweating bullets Philippe swiftly stashed the tome away. With a hiss the larger occupant got up and let itself out, leaving the carriage door open. The ugly orange light he had seen earlier in the tunnel was everywhere, drowning everything in an gross sheen. Philippe kept his belongings close as he stepped from the carriage. A sweltering heat, greater than that of the castle kitchens on a bad day, instantly enveloped him. Feeling oddly light, he made his way towards his host, who was waiting at the edge of what appeared to be a chasm of some kind. It watched him keenly as he regained his bearings in the heat.

As he walked to stand beside the much taller being, the tailed heir could hear a terrible whine of some kind, rising up from the cliffs ahead. It grew impossibly in volume as he neared, compelling him to step past the creature to peer over the rock's edge. He caught his breath as his gaze fell upon the glowing pit far below. People, hundreds of thousands, were beneath him. They toiled in the blistering heat, without clothing, pulling carts laden with rock or pulling monstrous gears wrought of black metal across the blasted earth. Some were so disfigured, he couldn't tell what they might have been. Cracks of impatient whips sounded from every direction, followed by shouts and wails of all genders and ages. He couldn't contain his despair, or his horror. "Wh… why…" he choked, "are you showing me this?" There were tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.

The beast behind him didn't say anything at first. It regarded him for a moment, its expression hidden, then "_you wanted to come here_," it stated flatly in that oddly affected voice.

He whirled around.

"_You wanted to find your so-called helper_," it clarified. "_So go do so. I will wait here. You have one hour; if you fail to locate who you have come to find, then you will be the next to dig my channels_." It lifted a hand. "_Here_," in its palm was a tiny hourglass. "_This will give you how much time you have to look for your 'friend'._" It tossed it to the youth. "_Not a second longer. You must claim your target at my very feet before the last grain falls, or your fate is sealed upon my will_."

Philippe, catching the hourglass, nearly shouted at the thing. A tremor, identical to those he had felt before now, rocked the very chasm to its core, nearly driving him to his knees. It was so much stronger! What were those poor people digging on? He shot a glance to the robed being. It just grinned toothily over the mess of sweaty bodies below it, ignoring him. He looked to his teller of time. The fine grains of sand were already filing down the hourglass' length. Figuring he had best get started, the Prince gripped his pack and started looking for a way down. There was no way he'd be able to spot the fabled bounty hunter from up here. With his sharp sight he quickly found a ledge leading down towards the pit of folk, and just as quickly wound his way to the bottom, his host's green gaze watching him closely.

- - -

The Knights were on double-duty, and Steiner was busy clanking his way about the castle's perimeter. It was now late, and there had still been no developments on Zidane's disappearance since but a few hours ago.

Garnet was torn all about the inside. She was close to her breaking point, which had become dangerously close and frail over the past few years. She knew that Zidane had been taken from her beyond Gaia's reach. She knew that Philippe had somehow followed after him. What she didn't know, was how her son had found a way. But her mind was refusing to admit what she already knew. The walls, the same walls that had trapped her so long ago in that very same, horrible place, were threatening to rise up against her a second time. Already the taunts that had driven her to near madness twenty years ago were echoing silently between her very thoughts, daring her to fall in the dirty, lightless ditch she had somehow crafted for herself so long ago.

They threatened that it would be her grave.

The Queen scowled and stood up, her hands on her dress regally. No. She wouldn't fall to such weakness a second time. Zidane was strong, as was his son. She too, was strong. She had to maintain that strength, prove that she could adapt and take the blows that were always coming.

But she couldn't let the people catch word of today's events. The Alexandros line was already on thin enough ice as it was, thanks to all the misfortune that had befallen the kingdom and all its allies during Garland's reign of assimilation and Kuja's attempts to take every living being with him to the afterlife. Such knowledge, that the King had been possessed and spirited away, had to kept within the castle walls for as long as possible. She would have both of them brought back.

And what if she couldn't? What then? The folk would soon realise that not all was well within the castle grounds. What would she tell them? What could she afford to say? Garnet didn't like so much as entertaining the idea of lying to her people, even for the sake of preserving her line of royalty. Times were changing, and the roles of autocracy were being challenged. The upstarts were small, for now, but the notions were gaining wind. Most of these folk were dangerous, leaping all over any chance to expel a member of the ruling class by whatever means necessary, no matter how violent or sick. It was these people she wanted to be kept in the dark.

She pushed herself away from her chair and headed for the writing room. Garnet was not a firm believer in censorship, but this had to be done. Her Knights, from this point onward, were to be bound by silence of all activities within the castle, and with no exceptions. The integrity of this edifice would be kept, for the sake of her son, if nothing else.

- - -

Philippe had bound a kerchief about his face, the fumes of the pit were so powerful. The reek still got through, but hopefully whatever poisons were floating about were being kept at bay. The heat was so great he swore he had lost at least five pounds just by reaching the bottom of the pit. He checked the hourglass his 'gracious host' had given him. He had used ten minutes of his time getting to where he was now it seemed. He frowned slightly, but there was really nothing he could do about such things. Time was not something that could be controlled.

Best to get started. The Prince gazed about the expanse that stood before him, and the immense gravity of his task finally hit him. The chasm was _huge_, and there were masses upon masses of bodies all around him, all gross, sweaty, beaten, bruised, or disfigured in some way. How was he to find his helper in this mess? He thought back to what the character looked like in the painting hidden in his parents' attics. Blue skin and blazing red hair. He hoped there weren't too many people following that description. With a huff he started for the moving, sweating, moaning crowd.

The folk around him, though considerably less charred in appearance, seemed to like the look of him just as much as those burnt husks he had seen up above. Philippe found himself staring into countless eyes glowing with points of red light. What looked to be a hairless Burmecian made for him first, gurgling and hissing like an animal. Unrestrained by tethers or chains like its fellow inmates, it shambled for him with a mutilated pickaxe in hand. Those bound to heavy loads were also trying to reach the Prince, chattering crazily. The soft cacophony swiftly rose, slowly numbing his mind. The skinny anthropomorphic beast, groaning like an old pipe, lifted its tool heavily. With a low howl unlike that of any sentient being it hurled the instrument at the youth. The brunet Prince saw the attack, and quickly ducked out of harm's way. The tiny axe kept on its trajectory, however, spearing into the first being to get in its line of flight. The unintended victim, what could have once been a human, shrieked and swung its limbs crazily, the tool firmly embedded in its neck.

Chaos broke lose. With fresh meat standing out in the open, and a bleeding figure in the midst of it all, the assembled freaks were losing whatever limited span of comprehensive intelligence they may have once owned. Whether through the brutal play of the heat, or sheer degradation of the spirit, the creatures all around began to wail and chatter obscenely, flailing their limbs every which way in some morbid display of either confusion or pleasure at the grisly scene. Those tethered to a group who also had instruments of the pickaxe sort ended up stabbing their partners in their awkward dance, spreading the mess and hysteria even further. The tailed Prince was appalled. Fights were beginning to break out amongst the sufferers, with instruments meant for attacking stone being swung in every direction. Plumes of wet red in every hue flew out from the largest pockets of violence, coating the brawlers and shaking spectators in their fellow sinners' gore. Feeling sick, Philippe thought it best to get out of the way. He made to run, moving backwards. He bumped into a soft obstacle.

He turned around uncertainly. The hairless Burmecian who had accidentally started the chain of carnage stood behind him, snarling at him with blazing red eyes. Gasping he made a break in the opposite direction. Faster than he could have though possible the creature grabbed a hold of his arm. The Prince yelped. The grip was incredibly strong! His arm was already hurting like mad! He pulled and tugged against his captor furiously in hopes of getting free. Forgetting their quarrels, the other figures, several now missing various pieces of their anatomy, were now starting to crowd about the digitgrade soul and its catch. The Prince was starting to yell for all his worth, his heart hammering. Soon enough he was surrounded by the beaten figures, all of them eyeing him hungrily.

Whip cracks sounded from every direction, followed by several of the pitiful souls flinching and wailing savagely. Dark beings, several of them disproportionate, well-built and grey in colour, began to violently usher the souls back to work. Much to Philippe's relief, the attention of his would-be attackers was very swiftly redirected back to whatever chore these folk had been given. His harasser released him, clutching at itself and making nonsensical noises. It ambled off elsewhere. With his heart still pounding a little harder than he'd like, he continued his search for the presumed Flaming Amarant, hoping that the man wouldn't try to make him into a meal like every body else had just done. He quickly checked the hourglass.

He had only a half hour left?

He couldn't believe it. The fight didn't last that long, had it? He quickened his search, making a mental note that, once or if he got out of the pit, he would look up a bit more information on time passing in Hell.

The tailed Prince scoured as much as he could reach. Nothing. Not one pelt of blue or red amongst the sweaty bodies of the suffering. The taskmasters, with their whips in hand, were eyeing him coldly. Some were making odd gestures, passing him looks that were not in the last bit friendly or sanitary. Philippe cast another glance to the hourglass. The grains told him he had just over ten minutes left to find the bounty hunter and bring him to the Lord's feet. How was he going to do that? He looked around in despair. Bodies of men, women, adolescents and children of all races, some of which he couldn't even remotely begin to describe, surrounded him on all sides. And he hadn't even gotten that far from the cliff. He cast a forlorn gaze up to the ruling creature on the cliffs, wishing for more time. There was no way he would be able to find the man! Not even if every worker here was arranged in a line! There were just too many!

Gazing up at the creature that would surely claim his life in just over ten rounds of sixty seconds, a small burst of glowing thermal energy rushed up from the cracks in the chasm's floor. The being's face was illuminated for a split second. It was just long enough to make the youth's jaw go slack. With a short yell he sped towards the cliffs, dodging the naked souls and the snapping whips aimed at them. The tiny path leading up towards the carriage above was so far away! He stole another glance to the hourglass.

Eight minutes left.

He ran harder. He resisted the urge to curse as his feet pounded against the basted earth. What foultry! How could that… that thing! He bashed into several of the toiling beings as he ran, slowing himself in his blind persistence to reach the cliffs of the pit.

Six minutes.

He could see the path now. It was still fairly far, and his legs were starting to lose feeling from the strain of the prolonged dash. He nearly skidded into the rock face of the chasm's walls.

Five minutes.

The path seemed so much steeper! He panted and fought his way to the top. He could see the tall creature watching him passively, not moving a muscle. Was that a grin?

Two minutes.

Philippe was wheezing harder than a choked chimney. His muscles were going slack and he couldn't feel his legs anymore. Almost there! He didn't bother to look at the hourglass as he struggled up the last length of rock. He didn't care what time it was when he flopped down at the feet of the robed figure looking down on him.

"You!" he wheezed, pointing with an oxygen-depraved finger. "It was you all along!" He gasped for more air, his kerchief gone. The thing narrowed its eyes. "Say something!" he demanded. "You're the bounty hunter!" shrieked the Prince. "You're Amarant Coral!"

The towering figure pinned him with that fiery green gaze. Hardly bending over it took the hourglass from the Prince's numb fingers. As it held the instrument up, the last, tiny grain of white sand trickled down into the base.

The giant began to laugh, a low rumbling sound that quickly grew in volume. Philippe had gone cold. What was going on?

"_I didn't think you'd figure it out…_" The cover of forced falsehood had now been removed from the voice, making it all the more clear; and all the more familiar. The giant robed being quieted his show of mirth, lifting a beringed hand to pull away the concealing hood. The sewn pieces of mortal skin were pulled away to reveal the face that the tailed youth had just been searching almost fruitlessly for. A long visage surrounded by red locks of Heaven's knew what stared him down with the most cocky, fearsome smirk he had ever seen. The same smirk he had seen in the portrait. The mystery man's large, hoop earrings glimmered in the fluctuating light. "_Then again… you were raised by Gaia's greatest thief. I expected no less from his blood_."

Philippe was floored. It was him! On top of that, something else seemed to come to light. "It was you… It was you in the mirror last night!" he leapt unsteadily to his feet. Yes, it seemed so clear now. The gross visage crafted of churning flesh he had seen the night before was a perfect match. The voice, the build, everything. This was the man everyone he knew was afraid of. Now he knew why. He simply stared.

The former bounty hunter grinned at him almost evilly. "_I thought that was you… I'm surprised your father didn't notice your presence. He can be such a dense shit_."

The youth was confused. "Why did you do that?" he exploded. "Why did you make me go down there? Huh? Why did you just come out and say who you were?" he shouted.

The Flaming Amarant sneered at him with nothing but menace. "_Why should I have done that?_" the giant questioned. "_As far as I'm concerned, if you can't put two-and-two together, then you're obviously of no use to your parents._"

The Prince glared at the creature. "How dare you say that… you--"

The beast's right hand was wrapped about his throat in a split second. The towering being drew him up off the ground without hardly a huff, bringing him up close so that he couldn't look away from the redhead's horrible stare. "_What am I, Prince?_" he mocked. "_I dare you to finished that sentence._" The brunet youth just gagged, sweating all over again. The ruler of the loathsome beings exacting punishment below narrowed his gaze dangerously. "_I thought so. Bear in mind, Philippe, that I have, despite what you or your father might think, no obligations to help you. I paid my dues long ago. If anything, that monkey owes ME. My identity is my own, and dare I say, not what you think. It is nothing that you can comprehend_."

Philippe was dropped unceremoniously to the floor.

"_Now… If you are finished with such rashness, we will discuss your King's newest problem_."

Philippe fought to regain an upright position. Another quake rocked the cavern, knocking him back down. "What is that?" he questioned aloud, rubbing his backside as the tremor faded. "Is there some sort of continental fault around here?"

The former convict chuckled. "_No._" The giant wandered back to the cliffs' edge. He pointed with a sharp nail over the chasm below. "_Look. This is what causes the quakes here. My own creation…_"

The Prince ambled sorely up to stand beside the man he had been looking for, following the digit. He made a slight face. A huge construction of some kind was trundling across the earth with the aid of several hundreds of the trapped folk. What looked to be four jaws, each facing inwards, sat at the contraption's front. The body seemed to be made of anything but metal. He didn't dwell on what the alternatives could be. Not too far behind it, there was a second.

"_The Demolishers…_" hissed the giant. "_They eat away at the walls to expand my territory. Pride is always growing, and I'm never without need of new ways to remove the rubble that stands in my way_."

Philippe merely stared. He didn't notice that the other had returned to the carriage until the older being called out to him. He retreated towards the ornamental transport. He was happy to leave the horrid cavern behind when the construct started moving back the way they had come.

After a while of silence he broached the silence. "So you'll help me?"

Amarant had his eyes closed, large hands on his lap. "_Maybe… That all depends on whether or not your father can be saved. You said he was possessed?_"

He nodded. "Yes."

"_Hnn…_" The creature shifted slightly. "_You're sure? That is some bad news, then._"

Philippe swallowed.

"_Demons of any calibre are not allowed to leave this place_," informed the man simply, not opening his eyes. "_It is a transgression punishable by torment and death. Not even the most headstrong of the Angels dare to breach that Law_."

Angels?

"_Likewise…_" he peered at the youth through a slit between his eyelids. "_You are not welcome here. Neither is your father_."

"What do you mean?"

"_You seem to have some source of knowledge guiding you through this; consult it for the reasons. I have better things to do than explain the rules of Heaven and Hell to a pampered juvenile_."

Philippe went cold. Did he know about the book? "I… I…"

Amarant rolled his eyes in exasperation. "_Don't start that again. It's annoying. I don't care what you're getting your information from. I'm guessing its from whatever collection your parents keep, or else that fool of a monkey wouldn't have been able to bother me for so damn long after that dumb-ass war with Kuja and his freak creator_." He eyed him. "_Maybe I'll confiscate it later… Hell doesn't need idiot tourists like yourself ambling about like they own the place. Feh. And maybe I'll finally have some peace and quiet for more than just a week at a time_."

His father contacted this thing that often? Philippe was shocked. Almost appalled. He knew the King treasured his friends, who fought with him to free Gaia from its oppressive fate; but he didn't think that he would go so far to keep his ties. He didn't think that any relationship with such a creature was at all healthy. From the sound of things right now, he wasn't going to get the help he so desperately needed. He had to persuade this man to aid him in saving his father. "Then, if demons aren't allowed in the real world… Then why was my father possessed?"

The regally dressed bounty hunter made a face at the term 'real world'. "_They were forced out, as with all possessions and summonings. Some jackass opened a rift to pull the Demon out, and sent it after your thieving parent._" He rumbled. "_I assume you found a… symbol, around where he had been possessed?_"

He sat up. "Yes! It was a, a…" He snapped his fingers as he fought to recover the word. "Pentagram! There was a pentagram made of soot under his dining chair!"

"_Hmm… There's someone else with the same knowledge, more, than Zidane concerning this place. He has a few enemies, if what you say is true. Only the truly insane or criminally ingenious would attempt to wield the infernal powers for their own devices_."

The carriage took a definite turn, off from their original course. The stylised Prince looked out the window quickly.

"_Don't worry your head_," said the man with a dismissive wave of his hand. "_You're safe here_."

"I… heard that I have only three days to rescue the King…" He looked almost pleadingly at the former hero. "…And that time doesn't pass like it should here."

The redhead scoffed. "_Psh. Don't whine. I have a solution to your problem of keeping time, though how you spend it is not something I care about._"

The carriage stopped.

Amarant let himself out, once again leaving the door open for the Prince. Philippe closed the door behind him as he exited a second time. Where were they now? He looked around, and was awestruck.

Hourglasses, hundreds upon thousands of hourglasses of all shapes and sizes, lined the walls of this new chamber. A light filtered down from the unseen roof, through the countless supporting beams past the transparent floor to the red, unknown pit at the very base. It was eerily beautiful.

"_When was Zidane possessed exactly?_" questioned the former bounty hunter from across the chamber.

"Ah… about six…ish? Dinner."

He heard the other scoff.

Amarant came wandering back with a single, smaller hourglass in his hand. It was already spilling a bloody red sand into its lower half. "_Here_," he said. "_This will keep your time for you. When the sand runs out, you had best forget about your monkey of a father and get out of here as quickly as you can. Though, as I'm sure you already know, the more time you waste standing around, the more difficult it will be to remove the Demon from his body_."

Philippe took the hourglass gingerly. It had a handy leather strap tied to it. It nearly fell from his grasp in his wonderment, tipping it upside down. He gasped and quickly restored its equilibrium. The youth made a face at seeing that there didn't seem to be any apparent change in the flow of the sands.

"_The hourglass can't be reversed. They're made especially to keep time to any standard given to it. Even if you turn its on its head, it won't flow the other way until the one side is empty_."

Curious, Philippe tested the man's claim. Indeed, the hourglass' sand didn't change its flow, emptying now against the law of gravity its scarlet charge into the opposite basin.

"_Don't lose it. And don't break it. As enchanted as they may be, they're not indestructible_." He watched the smaller figure examine the instrument all the more closely. "_I must enforce on you that you __**don't break the hourglass**_._ The sands contained within are meant only for the vacuum of the item itself. The spilling of these sands can lead to terrible things_." He stood up straight with a low sigh that made him seem a lot older than he probably was. "_Now. You had best leave. I'm afraid that your presence here isn't doing anything commendable within my realm. I wish you luck_."

Philippe was shocked. He wasn't going to help him _find_ his father? "Wait, aren't you going to help me free him? Or maybe tell me where he could be?"

The infamous Amarant sighed again. "_I'm afraid you'll be sticking this one out on your own, Prince. I don't know where Zidane could be, nor could I possibly even point you in the right direction. Hell is too vast for any of us to keep a constant eye on. As for me, I must stay here. There is a great deal of unrest at this point in time, and I don't need a headstrong sword-slinger distracting me from keeping my Fortress standing. However…_" It looked beyond the tailed youth. He whistled as if calling a dog. "_Urz! Get out here!_" he called.

Philippe rubbed at his ears slightly. Urz?

The cloaked carriage driver came ambling in, tossing away the dark fabric. "I'm not a dog," said the Guardian dejectedly to itself. It was the same creature that had brought him here! It looked slightly worse for wear, but still very imposing. It seemed to be rather wary in the presence of the massive redhead. Philippe glanced repeatedly between the two. The Cerberean creature looked… a _lot_ like the man in the robe, only grey and slightly shorter; and a huge spoked collar hanging about the middle of its neck, and a tail. It eyed the Prince coldly with its yellow gaze. "Yes, Master?" it addressed the bounty hunter.

The Flaming Amarant sneered at the creature. "_You, Urz, will be temporarily relieved of your duties to aid Philippe in his quest_," he informed it.

The creature, Urz, looked shocked. "What? But Master, it is a mortal! I--"

"_You will do as I demand of you!_" he shouted.

The grey skinned being grovelled on the ground fearfully. Philippe was stunned. This was the beast that had so easily rendered him to near death. And now it was prostrating itself before this former hero, shaking like a kicked puppy.

Amarant snarled at the monster, walking up to it. The thing called 'Urz' seemed to resist curling itself into a protective ball. The redhead reached down and grabbed a fistful of its hair. Pulling it up he shook it. "_Don't you dare defy me, Urz!_"

"Please, Lord of Pride!" pleaded the Guardian. "I-I was merely concerned for my p-post at the Gates!"

"_Don't you give me any of that!_" retorted the man, shaking it harder. The Prince couldn't wrench his gaze away. "_Don't you dare think I don't know how your mind works!_" He threw the thing to the ground. "_I made you! You will lead him to find the possessed soul that is wandering the Inferno. You will protect him above all else. I will take care of the Gates of The Damned_." He glared at the thing cowering under his shadow, stalking away from it afterwards. "_Now get out before I rethink letting you even leave_."

The Guardian made a pouting face as it sat up. "Can we at least borrow a carriage?" it called after the now-vanished form.

"_No! Now get out!_"

"Pfft." The creature attempted to levy itself up from the ground.

Philippe broke out of his reverie to help the grey being back onto its feet. It gave him a weak glare as he gripped its thick arm. It brushed him off afterwards, still breathing heavier. "Are you… alright?" he questioned his new… 'companion'.

It narrowed its gaze at him. "I'm fine, Terran crossbreed," it bit back, rubbing its back.

The Prince tucked the all-important hourglass away securely in his pack, checking his equipment once again.

The Guardian sighed. "Philippe, was it?" it asked him.

"Er, yeah," he answered uncertainly. "And you're… Urz?"

"Yeah." It straightened its back, making it crack and pop soundly. "Well, let's go." It turned on its heel and started in the opposite direction the bounty hunter had exited through. The brunet Prince followed after it quickly.

After passing innumerable dark hallways and pillars, he couldn't help but feel incredibly lost. "Where are we?" he inquired.

Urz rolled its eyes. "Is that the only question you know? We're not too far from the foyer. We're heading for the stables for a fast way out." It cast a few glances about. "Man, I hate this place…" it muttered under its breath. "Too damn big…"

"Ah… You're not lost are you?" he asked carefully.

As he expected, Urz shot him a glare. "No," it defended heatedly. "I just hate trying to navigate this place. Maybe we can find--oh hey! Hey! Strong One!" it called out, waving an arm to some figure in the distance.

Philippe squinted out into the dark, not seeing anything at first. Steadily, a huge, terrible form emerged from the shadows. It had a wedge-shaped head and carried a cleaver that rivalled the size of a writing table. It had a messy looking ponytail hanging down to its waist. It regarded the two with a pair of beady little eyes.

Urz jogged up to the monster. Philippe was not so inclined. "Oi, Strong One," addressed Urz. "I need your help. We need to get to the stables ASAP. Could you take us there? I always get lost in that part of the Fortress."

The thing called 'Strong One' rumbled in what he couldn't immediately tell to be a confirmation or a decline. With a huff it started from its place and headed off towards a new direction, the tailed grey beast following after it. Philippe kept close behind the Guardian.

He didn't pay any real attention to their surroundings as they walked, wanting to keep his ignorance intact for as long as possible. Horrible noises, moans of suffering and hisses of hunger, could always be heard, and the Prince had no intensions of finding out just what was making those sounds.

At long last, the creature called 'Strong One' vacated, leaving Philippe alone with the Guardian. With a wave of an arm the grey beast motioned for the brunet to follow it as it headed for a smaller, in comparison to what he had seen up until now, set of double doors. Their colour was incredibly dull, unlike all the other sets the Prince had encountered before. The tailed monster opened one door discretely and quickly ushered the youth inside, closing the portal behind him with a careful look-about.

Philippe slowed to a stop in the new chamber hidden behind the doors. Several pairs of eyes were staring right at him. From in their lavish stables, what looked to be a collection of some kind of horse stood contentedly. But they weren't like any other horses he'd seen. Some were overly built, and seemed to be devoid of skin, others were mere toothpicks, with their bones threatening to tear their flesh with one wrong move. Two in particular caught the Prince's eye. One was a deep red, the other an equally dark blue. Both were muscular and had what almost looked to be a _blade_ of some sort jutting our from between their pale eyes. They drooled and slavered all over the floor, regarding the youth curiously while pawing at the ground with their six hoofs.

Urz was already moving about, grabbing a pair of bridles and rein straps. "Don't go near them," it informed him. "They're not fond of mortals; not while they're alive, anyway. They bite."

Philippe cringed and took a good step backwards, even though he was already well away from the equine creatures.

"They're the Master's favourites," continued Urz. "They run faster than any wind and fear nothing. They trample anything that gets in their way."

"Ooh… Isn't that…" cautioned the tailed boy, "dangerous?"

Urz bridled the six legged things. "Huh? Naw. Don't be a baby. These dudes are nothing. You should see the carriage." It took both sets of reins in one large hand and lead the beasts out and down the wide corridor at the back. "Come on, wuss. If you want to get going, start moving."

The conjoining room was bigger than the last, and filled with elegant but wicked carriages. The Guardian lead the two 'horses' towards one in particular. It was the largest in the lot, parked away from the rest. The contraption was made of black metal and wood, all done in curves. Vicious looking spikes jutted out from the various edges, making it appear even more hazardous. The wheels were huge, nearly as wide as the Prince was tall, rimmed with metal and small spikes for he was hoping to merely be traction. Large, serrated blades took residence in the centre of the wheels; they looked as if they could shred through anything. Just like the carriage from before, there were flames, this time a violet-blue, dancing upon its corners without wick or wax to feed or support them.

"This is the Master's best, and most favoured carriage. And we're borrowing it," announced Urz, finishing with tying the beasts.

Philippe felt a sliver of cold trickle down his back. "Er… didn't he… or it, say that we couldn't…?" The last thing he needed was to be damned for stealing the carriage of a Lord of the Underworld.

The Guardian, thick tail waving behind it, merely snorted. "Pfft. There's nothing It can do. It's always busy, It'll never notice." It stopped and contemplated. "Unless It wants to take a drive…" It shrugged. "Oh, well."

The Prince stammered. "Are you sure we shouldn't just walk?"

Urz rolled its eyes. "Get in the carriage, you weenie. You want to find who-ever, right?--"

"My father," he corrected.

"Right; and if you want to do that, you're gonna need something with some speed to take you through Hell fast enough. Hell is a big place, let me tell you." It sat itself on the driver's bench. "Now get in, or I'll run you over for fun." Gripping his bag, and sweating bullets out of apprehension, Philippe did as he was told. "Okay…" muttered Urz to itself. "The back doors are open… Next stop, Gluttony! Heya!" It cracked the reins soundly. The two steeds, side by side, reared up with an alien cry and bolted forward with an unreal speed. The spiked wheels clicked insanely on the floors as the wheels spun at the speed of sound.

Philippe clutched at the black upholstery in the back in attempts to gain some bearings. "Urz!" he called out. "Can you slow down?" he pleaded helplessly.

Urz wasn't paying attention. Up ahead, the sentries stationed at the final city wall had taken notice that their Lord's carriage was headed straight for the exit, and it was an unplanned trip. Chattering in their backwards tongue they swarmed over the controls, slowly bringing the gargantuan metal doors of Mis' only exit to a close. The gate was closing slowly, but they were far enough away that they would be shut in before they could make it out. Urz gritted its teeth. It wanted this trip with this maggot-child to be as short as possible. It would face the wrath of its creator later. It cracked the reins again, shouting at the horse-beings to go faster. Huffing and snorting, they gave a burst of speed, rocketing for the closing doors.

Realising that they wouldn't be able to catch the carriage at the speed it was travelling, but afraid to attack it lest their Master truly be inside, the sentries howled and cursed at the carriage as it squeezed past the monstrous slabs of metal.

- - -

The former Flaming Amarant, cynic and hero of Gaia, watched the black carriage leave his estate.

Urz had disobeyed him, and would have to be punished. But he would have to deal with that later, for there were other, more pressing matters to attend to. The Alexandrian Prince had a long road laid ahead of him, and his troubles were only going to grow the longer he remained in the Inferno. The faster he left, the better.

He reached up to his long face and unceremoniously pulled out a green eye. He held the orb of sight out before him, examining it. He let the eye drop. No sooner had it hit the ground that it suddenly grew a set of agate legs. It gave one look about its location and quickly scuttled away, a tiny metallic tapping noise following it out.

The redhead watched the thing leave, his lost eye somehow back where it belonged. Huffing to himself, he returned his attention to the retreating carriage being pulled by his best mares. As he stood, several more of the walking eyes fell to the ground, each running off to a destination known only to them.

Indeed... war was coming.

- - -

And that's the sixth chapter. Please read and review, readers! This fandom is sorely lacking in the freak-out department, and I want to know if you are (at all) enjoying this spin on things.


	8. I:vii Spinning Wheels of Aggression

Discalimers: Zidane and his nutty cohort belong to Sqauresoft and its parasite, Enix.

But everything else, including the Prince, the Guardian, the massive cube, the destruction and general insanity belong to ME. Steal, and I will _hunt you down_.

It's a new month, time for an update. Enjoy.

* * *

CHAPTER VII: SPINNING WHEELS OF AGGRESSION

Her decree had been announced to all those under the service of the Castle Alexandria. There was no way that she, Queen Garnet, would allow harm to come to her family through the knowledge of the folk. She paced about her chambers, still trying to fight away her voiceless despair at her loss and focus on just who could have done this to her husband and only son. They had no enemies as far as she knew. Theirs was a peaceful rule, and it was the Alexandros family dedication to keeping the peasantry happy and satisfied that kept it on the throne for as long as it had been. This was why the people loved them. And it was for them that she declared that they be kept in the dark.

Chaos would break out if word was released, and would surely tear the countryside to pieces. There would be riots, burning of religious structures, crimes, hysteria… all of which was nothing but toxic to the wellbeing of her nation. On top of that, there was the possibility that fanatics of 'freedom' would raze the Alexandria Castle to the ground and take the lives of all who dwelled within; with the madness providing an excellent excuse.

No. She wouldn't let that happen.

But who had done this? Who held enough of a grudge, if grudge it was, against the Alexandros line to do such a thing? She couldn't fathom it. It couldn't be Lindblum or Burmecia, both were busy with their own internal affairs, and had no reason, present or future that she could divine, to cause such strife in her house.

Could it be someone who resided within Alexandria's walls? Or even in the Castle itself?

It was unthinkable, but she had few other choices to go off of. It was either that, or…

She didn't even want to _consider_ what the last option would be. That was behind them, and there was no possible way that it could happen again.

Frowning slightly she left her chambers to speak with her remaining guests and the doctor.

- - -

The exit from Pride was nearing swiftly.

They had just left the back of the Fortress of Ego, racing upon a rock, raised bridge in a black carriage of splendid design and functionality. The grey skinned Guardian that had nearly killed the questing heir to Alexandria's throne was at the reins guiding and encouraging the double monster steeds to ride faster.

Philippe was in the cushioned box of the carriage, having finally attained an equilibrium with which he could sit up straight. The thundering of the 'horses' hoofs filled his hearing, drowning out everything else with the rumble of the spinning wheels. Despite its insane speed, the carriage hardly rattled or jumped on the road, riding as smooth as silk. Philippe was impressed, but scared out of his mind. They were going so fast! What if they hit something? At this speed, the carriage would shatter and they would be killed. He hoped that Urz knew how to properly drive.

Urz was unfazed by the winds whipping about its messy dark dreads, yellow eyes glued to the track. A great wall, fashioned from the ageless rock that cradled this place, rose high into the so-called sky, disappearing into the miasma that served as cloud cover. The bridge was running straight for it, and at its end, would be the way out from Pride, into the next, lower Level of the Inferno: the fearsome kitchens of Gluttony. The creature made a face in disgust. Gluttony was a sick place, nearly rivalling Envy in its cruelty towards its charges. If they were lucky, they could speed past it through the caverns above it, and slip into Wrath unnoticed. The beasts that thrived in the Second Level were not kind to strangers, infernal or otherwise. It was certain that whoever this mortal dog was looking for wouldn't dare to rest in Gluttony. There was no possessed being alive that returned to the Hells that would even consider staying, much less entering, either of the first Three Levels of the Inferno. Pride, Gluttony, and Wrath were the largest of the Levels, certainly, but there was nowhere to hide. Any Level below Envy, if not Envy itself, was prime for hideaways. They weren't as large as the first Three, but they were largely uncultivated, with wastelands spanning in every direction. Fugitives would have the best chance of hiding among those. But just how they would search for this person, it didn't know. It was something they would have to figure out later, once they got past Gluttony.

If the 'Prince's' target was indeed in the Second Level, whoever it was would be long gone by now. The vicious Gluttony's Chefs took no prisoners.

Urz could see the end of the bridge, a huge crack in the infinite wall of impregnable rock. The way into the Second Level was always open when travelling down this road, but it was dangerous. If they weren't careful, there was a chance that they would run into some… unpleasant company within the caverns.

The tailed Prince was steadily getting more comfortable. Though he had no idea of where they were headed, he felt that all he could really do was trust Urz to obey what his father's old 'friend' had directed it to do. But it had already gone against one of the bounty hunter's orders. Just how trustworthy was this creature? Was it without morals or shame? Was that why it had been chained to the Gates of The Damned? He desperately hoped that things would be alright. He would find his father, Zidane, and leave this horrible place behind in a blink. He leaned into the black seat with a sigh, allowing a small smile to cross his features. He never thought that a thing built in Hell could be so comfortable…

Urz wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. It urged the steeds to charge faster, snapping the reins and shouting. The entrance to the mid-transition cavern swallowed the carriage in a haze of stone and shadow. A steady curve on the rocky path lead the carriage downwards, the violet flames trailing behind. Pillars of rock surrounded the path on all sides like the jaws of some great behemoth, vanishing into the abyss far below and beyond. Their pace was good. At this rate they would bypass Gluttony within the hour and possibly Wrath in two as well if they were lucky. But luck was not a frequent visitor to the Inferno. Urz kept its guard sharp.

- - -

Eiko had taken a break for her own health. Cid and Hilda had left long ago.

It was well past midnight in the castle, but she could not bring herself to sleep after all that had happened. Vivi and the doctor were still trying to piece together what little they had to solve the mystery of Zidane's assault and the Prince's disappearance.

There wasn't really any 'mystery' to it at all. They all knew at least part of the answer, but nobody really wanted to admit it. Such things shouldn't trouble the living by right of the peace of mind. But this could never happen, she knew, without outside help. The Planes of life and death were kept separate for a reason, and under no normal circumstances would they mingle. Many would argue that there were no differences between the arcane forces of Gaia and those of these ulterior places of renown. In truth, some of this was true. The arcane gained its roots from the excess that somehow escaped these Planes, embedding itself within the very fabric of the living worlds to become a symbiotic miasma that gave the well-tuned the abilities of magic warfare.

But this, was something else altogether. There was a madman lose on Gaia's surface, who was delving into things that were never meant to be learned by the mortal populace.

She wandered the upper halls in hopes of a distraction. She stopped momentarily in her idle pacing, feeling something out of place. It was like a low thrum, unhealthy and foul. Her internal bond with her Eidolons was fluctuating with the pulse, fading as the alien beat got stronger. The blue haired Summoner looked upwards to the ceiling and the floor above. There was something up there causing this.

Lifting her gown for easier movement she navigated to the stairs leading to the final upper level. She didn't know what was kept up there, perhaps it was storage like the basements. Eiko became quickly aware that there were no lights up above, and made a point to borrow a candelabra from a nearby stand before ascending.

Even with five tall sticks of wax burning as brightly as they could the shadows of the upstairs weren't easily banished. The thrum was definitely clear from here. She stood on the top stair, surveying what she could. All sorts of debris was laid out all around on the floor, most draped in cloth for preservation. An attic then? She hadn't joined the others this far when the tremor had shaken the castle. She hadn't been able to approach this floor, her head had been spinning like crazy, her sight obliterated and her hearing destroyed by a force she had never felt before. It wasn't malicious, but it was powerful. She had never felt so blind and alone than in that tiny span of a half-minute. The doctor, Tot, had to escort her away back to the library.

The same feeling was creeping up on her a second time. Her hearing was hissing faintly and the shadows on the periphery of her vision were shifting against the light in a manner that she knew wasn't proper. With a hand on the Summoner's Jewel she had taken to wearing on a chain, she advanced to find the source of the thrum. Almost immediately she stopped, not ten paces from the entrance.

She could feel it. Something was trying to push her away. It was like a confusion curse, making everything appear unfamiliar, regardless of the fact that she had just scrutinised the area as close as she possibly could have. Eiko frowned into the dark. She restarted her trek.

No sooner had she begun that she found herself heading for the door she had just left. Eiko stopped in annoyance. She looked back over her shoulder in the direction she had ventured into and yet somehow gotten spat back out. Indeed, there was something at work here trying to keep her away. And why? She turned herself around to face the undulating darkness. What was in here that would need such a means of defence? What object? Or what person? She could also be jumping to conclusions. She might have redirected herself back here. Gripping her only source of light she tried again to hunt out the source of heavy beat, making sure to keep to the main path between the detritus. She focused on the dark ahead, nearly scowling in concentration. She made note of what she passed along the way, lest she incidentally double back. She blinked, and the door back to the downstairs was in front of her yet again.

Well, she hadn't been wrong with her first theory, it seemed. For the second time she repositioned herself. The thrum still buzzed in her brain, threaded with a distant stream of what felt like _laughter_. So, whoever was working this little hex was laughing at her, are they? She closed her eyes and concentrated. Eiko still had a fiery temper, despite all her years of 'proper' upbringing by Cid and Hilda's side. She focused on the beat that reverberated unheard about the atmosphere, encouraging it to pull her towards it, not push her away. In her mind's eye she could she a shimmering string of light veering away from her towards the far dark horizon, to the source of all this madness, she was sure. She headed forwards a third time, her eyes kept closed. She followed the delicate thread she had created, hoping it wouldn't snap or somehow fool her into veering back towards the entrance for yet a fourth time and be sent tumbling down the stairs for her insistence.

The Summoner inched forwards cautiously, testing the ground with every step. Though she still carried the candles in her right hand, it did nothing to help her on her way. As she kept forwards she could feel the thrum increase in strength, drowning out everything else. The presence of her Eidolons was becoming more and more strained and faint with every step she took, as if they were being forced to be left behind. This left her feeling cold and empty. This must have been what Garnet had felt when she had been torn from her Eidolons from before…

The illusionary twine ended. She stopped herself and opened her eyes. A new door, old and almost decrepit, stood before her. The thrum was everywhere, it almost be physically felt. It was like a steady heartbeat. There was something behind this door… that shouldn't be there.

Eiko placed a hand on the rusting handle of the wood. Immediately she was assaulted by waves of nausea. Her senses recoiled and her head was filled with hideous, unintelligible chatter. Unseen voices jeered and laughed, cursed and spat at her. She couldn't help but pull her hand away. The jeers faded instantly.

She wasn't internally prepared to undertake this. She needed to gather her strength before attempting to open that door. There was an awesome power behind it keeping it closed and hidden, and she wanted to be as ready as possible should there be something other than a mere seal waiting beyond the wood. She got up and headed back towards the downstairs, feeling relieved as the life forces of her Eidolons returned to her steadily. She retreated to the guest chamber given to her. She would need her rest for tomorrow.

- - -

_The night sky was beautiful. The ground was dark below._

_He floated in motionless freefall between the planes of sky and earth, without purpose or thought. Such calm was never unwelcome. His being floated in peace._

_Shooting stars streaked across the dreamscape sky far beyond his reach like stray rain. He watched in unmoved awe as the streaks increased, slowly turning the sky into a strobe-light show of glittering star-stuff. The lines of light rained to the dark earth far below, creating small plumes of charred dirt as they landed. The fall of stellar material continued, the night canvas turned to a noon-time swathe of light. His eyes hurt with the change and the temperature was rising. He shielded himself in protest._

_Explosions rent the air beneath his suspended feet, sending shockwaves tearing through the atmosphere._

_At last the flashes subsided and the aerial tremors ceased. Was the calm restored at last?_

_He opened his eyes slowly, and was shocked._

_The sky was burning. The earth was burning. Beneath a flaming horizon molten rock bubbled and undulated. The air was scorching his senses. What happened?_

_The swirling rock below bloomed upwards, admitting a gargantuan form from the very core. He could only stare. The glaring light of the burning planes of sky and earth prevented him from defining anything of use or value. All he could focus on was the gross pair of orange eyes that glared at him with nothing but malice and hate. In seconds more of the eyes surfaced upon the hidden face, each pinning him with a penetrating stare that left him feeling exposed and somehow violated. Who was this?_

"_Insect of royal maggotry you will never find solace…. Neither will your fellow 'man'."_

_Who are you?_

"_Only waste awaits you, for I wish it so. Gaia will be laid to nothing but a barren cesspool of disease and death."_

_How it hurt. How could you?_

"_Because I have the means to do so. None may stop me."_

_He felt as though he were burning._

"_Nothing will stand in my way."_

_Skeletons floated up from the broth of molten rock below. They were horned and fanged worse than the fiercest animals. Some still had flesh, and were swiftly burning away to nothing. How they flailed their limbs in vain hopes of release, but to no avail. They all died._

_Bodies, fair and chiselled, now fell from the skies. Wailing and shouting they plummeted to the boiling brine gracelessly, erupting into flame and leaving nothing behind. They too, all died._

_The death was everywhere._

"_No force, living or dead, may stop me," said the darkened thing before him. It laughed at the suffering all around it._

_You're so cruel._

_It grinned in the glaring shadows that concealed its face. The perfect teeth shone out from the dark mass. "Say what you will, but you are nothing. Your pitiful excuse of a father stood in my way once, but never again. You will die at his side."_

The world shook and he came awake.

Philippe yawned and scratched the back of his head. What a horrible dream. Everything shook violently a second time. He shouted in surprise. It felt as though the carriage had been hit by something. "Urz?" he called out. "What's going on?"

In the driver's seat Urz didn't answer the Prince, it was too busy concentrating on the road far ahead. They had company, and it wasn't of the friendly kind. A second carriage, considerably smaller than their own, was driving alongside them. The driver, a thin toothpick of a creature, was whooping and shrieking at the Guardian rancorously as it guided its own carriage into theirs for a third time. The blue and red steeds whinnied and shrieked at the disturbance, their six hoofs pounding the ground all that much harder. Urz spat at the rival driver. "Screw off, fool!" it shouted at it.

"Yeee!" squealed the other driver. It cracked the reigns of its carriage's two black, boney steeds rapidly, stirring them into a frenzy. They foamed at the mouth and screamed crazily, the cold blue embers of their eyes burning with menace.

Who the Hell was this freak? Urz urged its Master's pets to run faster. It had to break away from this other driver, lest whoever was behind this moron's antics discovered what it was carrying across the wastes of the Underworld. The wheels of the rival carriage scraped against the spokes of the black construction. Urz shot the imbecile a vile glare. "Back off, you sack of filth!" it cursed.

The second driver shrieked and chattered again, threading its long tongue up its nose for good measure. "Iieeyycckk!" it screamed back, shaking itself obscenely. It drove its smaller cart into the larger a fourth time.

"Ack! Urz!" cried Philippe from the carriage box. "What's going on!?" he shouted desperately. The carriage was rocking dangerously with every strike. What was hitting them? Had the Guardian jumped ship and left the steeds to run where they would?

"Be quiet back there!" came the familiar shout.

"Urz!"

"Shut up and keep your head down!" Another crash.

The tailed Prince was knocked to his knees. He gripped at the upholstery for support, his heart hammering crazily. He didn't want to die here!

Urz was losing its patience. If they didn't shake this idiot off them soon, others were bound to be attracted by all the commotion. This was part of the reason he had taken the Founder's greatest carriage. The box was heavily armoured and had its own toys of pain stashed within, as it had learned before its relations with its maker went sour. It pulled viciously on the reins of the steeds, making them veer to the right. The blades welded onto the wheels tore into the assaulting carriage, tearing much of its left half to pieces. The grey Guardian could see a surprised greater Demon in the shredded box, pushing itself to the far side in self defence. It heard it shout something to its own driver. Urz barely had time to look over when a knife came veering in from its peripheral vision and lodged itself into the wood mere inches from its face. That does it. With a snarl it pulled again on the reins. The armoured carriage crashed into the harasser bodily. The back right wheel tore through what remained of the box, and shredded into the body of the passenger. The second driver tried feverishly to steer its carriage out of harm's way, but it was too late for its master. Urz could see with satisfaction that half of the robed beast that had formerly been shouting orders was reduced to a paste, smeared all about the interior and all over the back wheel of its own killer ride.

With its back left wheel and much of its front left wheel reduced to splinters, the second carriage was nothing but deadwood. Having lost a third of its support, the box tore the boney steeds from the rocky path and pulled them to the ground straight into the path of the spiked cart. Both the driver and the screaming animals were swiftly stabbed and crushed under-wheel.

Philippe was terrified. There had been horrible sounds from outside, and now there was a swathe of red on the windows. What it was, he could only guess, but didn't have to. Gods, what was happening?

Urz sped forward. It wasn't uncommon for there to be such rival drivers in the tunnels between the Levels. The paths were like invaluable shortcuts, but have long since their creation become dangerous to even higher-standing Lords and Ambassadors. Various greater Demons, either exiled from their lesser thrones of torment or simply bored, claimed rule over the vast catacombs of these super speedways, enforcing their sadism through vicious races against unwilling contenders and sheer assault. Some even outfitted their carriages with brutal weapons, and held competitions to see who would last longer against one another. As consequence, since their violence was so rampant, even the greatest of the Rulers of Sin had to up-step their own protection in order to get from one place to another by these tunnels. But why even these imbeciles would lay siege to a Lord of Sin's property Urz could not fathom. It was a transgression against the Inferno as a whole. If the Founder had actually been inside, the assault it had just broken free from would have lead to a bloody feud between Pride and whatever Level the abuser hailed from, regardless of banishment of the other rider or not.

There was an unearthly whine, and the rock ahead burst into flame.

"Son of a motherless goat!!" swore Urz, the carriage swerving dangerously to avoid the brunt of the attack. It shot a glance over its wide shoulder. Three carriages were thundering after its borrowed cart, each pulled by its own pair of horrific equine beasts. "Heya!" directed the Guardian to the creatures pulling the Founder's armoured carriage. The destriers were pulling as fast they could. Regardless, Urz continued to snap the reins, hoping that they would somehow gain a fresh burst of speed to break them away. Just how far were they? If they were lucky, they could veer down a minor path and lose their pursuers. The stench of bad meat was wafting up from the pits beyond the path in thick plumes of black smoke and white steam. They were just above the Second Level. If they turned off now, they would be taking a road right into the loathsome Kitchens, and that was exactly what it had intended to avoid when it took the carriage in the first place. If they could hold these new attackers at bay for long enough, they might finally bypass the roads to Gluttony and veer into Wrath instead. Neither were great places to be, regardless, but the mortal in the cart might have a better chance of sneaking through the Barracks than the steaming Kitchens.

The Alexandrian heir was cowering on the floor. He didn't know what else to do. He wanted desperately to know what was going on, but was afraid of even getting near the windows of the fortified cart lest something came hurtling through them with intent to cause grievous bodily harm. Another blast of blaring energy solidified his choice to stay as close to the floor as possible.

In the driver's seat Urz was cursing a blue streak unlike anything a mortal could even conjure. Despite the awesome speed its chargers were going, they weren't gaining any headway against the three pursuing carriages. It would have to fight them off if it wanted to get away. The first turn-off into Gluttony was still too far for them to just keep running. Even with this cart they would be reduced to charred corpses if they didn't retaliate. The Guardian knew that there were some wicked tools of death and destruction hidden in the Lord of Pride's most favoured cart, but it couldn't recall how to bring them to bear. It thought quickly. It needed those weapons. The Master was fond of throwing weapons; shuriken, metal rings, and vicious darts populated much of Its walls of war-toys, and there were some nasty versions being held in the back of the carriage. There was a way to fire them, and Urz was trying to figure it out before they got blown to pieces.

Another blast rocked the path.

"Chew on this, maggots!" shouted the Cerberean creature, hitting a small knob hidden amongst the ornate metal of the railings.

Philippe cowered as a high, metallic singing noise materialised from behind him in the wood. With a soft rush he heard something leave the construction. Wet sounds of impact screamed out from the path he could not see, followed by a crashing noise that clearly told him that something horrible had just taken place.

The Guardian grinned maniacally as it watched the foremost carriage swerve and destroy itself on the rocks beyond the path, the pulling steeds reduced to cutlets from the assault launched from its armoured tank of a cart. The road was getting oddly treacherous. It didn't remember the path being so rugged.

When it had last come down this way, the first time it had come this way, the path had been incredibly smooth. It had been with its Master. It had also been the last day it was to spend with It. Before the iron… the chains…

The road was rocking the cart it was so badly made. Urz reluctantly slowed the creatures tied to the carriage to keep it from overturning. The second of the pursuing three carts was gaining on them thanks to its choice of action, but it was rocking terribly itself. The driver of the new carriage was nearly neck-and-neck with the grey beast. Urz knew it had to get rid of this new clown quickly. The less distractions it had, the better. It focused hard, trying to summon a weapon with which to fight as the rival cart was driven into the side of their own. The Guardian was a Shape-Shifter, like its creator and siblings. But it was a greater Shape-Shifter, and that implied several limitations upon its power. Its strength was unmatched by any, but its abilities of moulding its skin and flesh as its saw fit were severely limited in consequence. Its Master was of the same stock, but even greater. Its form was fixed, colossal in size. But it had unfathomable power of manipulation. There was almost no limit to the illusions It could conjure.

A sharp pain in its arm signified success. With a blade nearly as long as it was tall jutting out from its wrist the creature swung at the driver beside it. It had to strike quickly. The thing it had just created wouldn't last. The manufactured blade of moulded flesh and bone sheered into the lanky creature guiding the attacking carriage. The fool didn't know what hit him as the Guardian's weapon ploughed into its head and ended its already pitiful life.

Its sense of victory was short-lived.

The third carriage had long since turned off from the road, and now Urz could see why.

The monster carriage swerved crazily to avoid the pits that had opened up before them on the path, sinking into the abyss far below. Cursing and sweating bullets the Guardian was standing in its seat in its attempts to properly guide the steeds. It had to slow the cart, but the creatures were too far gone in the adrenaline of escape and battle. The horse-beasts were foaming at the mouths and wouldn't heed the driver's frantic calls to halt.

"Stop, dammit!" shrieked the Guardian from outside. The Prince was being thrown about the carriage box like a feather pillow, but was hitting everything else like a sack of bricks. His entire body was burning in pain and his vision was beginning to swim. What the heck was going on?

"Urz!" he screamed over the rocking of the armoured cart. "Stop the cart!" He swore he was going to break every bone in his body if this didn't stop right now.

"I'm trying! Just hold on!" shouted the beast from the driver's seat.

There was a bang, and the entire carriage nearly tipped to one side. Tossed at the rising wall at an unreal speed the brunet cracked face-first into the wood and metal. A horrible crunching noise sounded from somewhere inside his body, and the world went black.

Meanwhile, Urz was still trying to regain control of the cart. The potholes leading to darkness were getting bigger with every meter gained, and it was becoming harder and harder to avoid them. If it didn't get the horses to calm down soon they were going to fall through. It pulled on the reins as hard as it could. "Stop, for the sake of all that's freaking Holy!" Its eyes went wide and it gasped. Up ahead the road had disappeared completely. The path dropped into nothing and the other side could not be seen. It gave another vicious yank on the cords that held the beasts to the carriage.

Drunk on confusion and adrenaline the blue and red beasts shot for the chasm, leaping as the stone fell to an unseen abyss. Shrieking and kicking the cart and its four inhabitants floated in suspended motion.

In a split second they all fell.

The darkness swallowed them whole, the flames of the carriage going out. The screams and whinnies faded.

Faintly, a crash sounded from the depths.

- - -

It was well past midnight. Vivi Orunitia, black mage extraordinaire, could not sleep.

He occupied himself in the lesser hallways of the castle, trying to raise the need for sleep in his form.

A storm had developed outside. Rain hit the windows of the hall in a steady rhythm that reminded the mage of open clocks. He stopped before a ornamental pane, sighing to himself. Lances of light danced between the black clouds that were blotting out the moon and stars, entertaining all below with a deadly show of mother nature's prowess. His crippled hand was aching distantly.

He peered down at the blackened limb with glowing eyes. The force that took both the King and the Prince was still lingering about the edifice. The throb was not as strong as it had been when Zidane had disappeared, or when the tremor had shaken the castle from what they were sure had been the attic. He intended to look into it, but not tonight. He was exhausted mentally, though his body was not so inclined.

There was something going on here, something beyond their scope, and it seemed as though the Alexandria Castle was taking center stage. Whatever it was, it was confusing everyone and setting the Knights on edge. A presence had taken residence over the royal grounds, increasing the already rampant tensions that was growing between them all. Vivi stared out into the storm that was still so far away. Despite what had happened eighteen years ago, he had never found himself obsessing over what he had experienced, unlike Zidane. He did not judge him for it. The Genome had been much more deeply affected than the rest of them, he assumed, which he guessed had lead to his… unhealthy need to keep the past as close to the present as possible.

Perhaps 'unhealthy' was too strong a word; but he couldn't think of any other term.

As far as he could understand from what the thief had told him over the years, the man that had remained behind after their damning experience in that… horrible place, had reserved no intensions to keep ties with the rest of them once they had escaped. But Zidane had pushed him. And now he was beginning to wonder if maybe all that pushing for what had been so important to him in the past was what had caused all of this to happen to the King now. Vivi wanted to stay as far away from the former bounty hunter as possible. He was bad news, for all intents and purposes.

He sighed again. Zidane was right. No-one dared to say his name anymore. He didn't even dare to conjure it in his mind's eye.

The Black Waltz didn't blame the former hero for what had happened just that evening, no. Or at least, not entirely. He knew that he had something to do with it, in some way, great or small. But he did think that Zidane himself was partially to blame for his fate. The former thief had always kept his connections with the last of their party secret after he had 'disappeared', as they had told the public. He was sure that the two of them had been passing something, information… artefacts, maybe. Whatever it had been it must have played some part in all that had happened of late. He even went as far as to include the rampages by unidentified creatures. Those that he had seen were not of Gaia.

After their escapade at the hands of what he could only call demons, the bounty hunter that had been their companion had become a celebrity overnight. Those who had been trapped with them had clamoured to see him after their freedom had been restored and their souls supposedly saved from death and damnation. He remembered that Freya had wanted to tell the folk that the man was of the same ilk that had so nearly destroyed their lives, but Zidane had been adamant that such information never got out. Garnet and Eiko never gave their opinions. The thief wanted to preserve the man's integrity as a hero of Gaia, but the Dragon Knight wouldn't hear of it. The verbal fight and the hazardous experience that they had then only just endured had driven a permanent wedge between them. With the Queen, Zidane told those who wished for the presence of their liberator that he had died in a conflict with the hostile creatures in order to buy the rest of them time to escape. The public had bought it.

It was a lie. But he felt that it was somehow true.

It had taken Vivi over a year to pry out from the then-crowned King of his dabbling in the vicious dark arcane. The ruler had been acting strange, claiming that 'he was not himself'. At first, he thought that the King had been referring to himself. How surprised he had been, when Zidane suddenly spilled the beans on his rather unbecoming secret. 'It's like he's died and come back to life, Vivi,' he remembered him saying. 'Only now its not him, it's someone else.' He could admit that he didn't fully understand what he had meant, and still arguably didn't. But who wouldn't change after what had happened? But he was certain that the former monk's 'change' was deeper than that. From what little he had gleaned from the King since then, it seemed as though the man now had a great deal of _power_. Unspeakable power.

But why?

The mage didn't know the circumstances that had lead to this. Had the man sold his soul? Had he done something to earn him that power? Whatever the reason, it was more than just partially the reason why he chose to avoid the very name of the character all together.

Power lead to corruption; and what that corruption would wrought one could only guess. And pray.

- - -

A waste of wood rubble and metal was spread amongst the hissing rocks, all that remained of the armoured carriage of the Lord of Pride. Amongst the detritus laid a broken figure caked in dirt and bleedings sores. Coughing lightly it pushed itself up by its thick forearms, spitting out a glob of something yellow-orange. Urz staggered to its feet, feeling absently at itself to make sure everything was still where it should be. It swayed slightly on its heels, a rush flooding its mind.

The mortal Prince!

Wheezing crazily it dove back into the piles of broken wood and twisted ore it had just escaped from, tossing planks and handfuls of rubble everywhere in its frantic search. "Where are you, wretch?" it questioned the waste below it. At last the body of the brunet heir was uncovered. The Guardian growled and cleared the way as much as it possibly could, grabbing a hold of the tailed boy's form the moment it was free from the rubbish. Philippe wasn't moving, nor was he breathing. The way the body was so limp told the creature that something vital had been broken, or that the mortal was dead. Cursing to itself it laid the Prince over its lap, feeling his neck for a pulse. Much to its reluctant relief, the faintest of throbs met its touch. Most of its stamina was already gone and it was weak from the exertion of surviving the fall. Aching all over, Urz attempted to administer the limited healing techniques it knew to undo the Prince's grievous injuries. Philippe's face was bloodied from being thrown about the cart, and several of his limbs were bent at awkward angles or swollen; the grey creature was amazed he was still alive.

Concentrating amongst the debris it collected all the energy it could afford to expel into its right hand. The soft green glow it had summoned not too long before resurfaced. Where the faint light touched the youth's wounds healed, the gashes and cuts slowly closing. Much faster than the beast had expected, the light pulsed unnaturally and went out, leaving it exhausted. It tested the Prince's pulse a second time, hoping he hadn't kicked the bucket in the middle of the treatment.

Thankfully, the pulse was slightly stronger, but still threateningly faint.

Where was the mortal's pack? Surely there would be some kind of healing materials kept inside. Only a complete idiot would attempt to brave the fires of ethereal punishment without such equipment. With the unconscious Prince carefully cradled in its large arms it scoured the wreckage as thoroughly as it could from its vantage, hoping that the bag would be closer to the surface than its owner had been.

And what of the steeds? The thought momentarily chilled it. A quick glance to the far left gave it its answer. Splashes of deep scarlet and orange played about the rocks in a pattern that signified that something had literally exploded on the ground. They must have hit the earth pretty hard, then. The Founder wouldn't be pleased with what it had done with Its favoured carriage and chargers. It made a face. It would be hearing from It about this, no doubt. The Cerberean creature surveyed its surroundings; where did they land? The landscape about them was like a dark chasm, with a dark, rugged ceiling high above. Massive, red, throbbing _veins_ pulsed along the ground, leading to the centre of their new surroundings. Far ahead of where they stood was a pit lighted from below, the orange glow splashing over the corrugated metal of a grand, square fortress of impregnable iron ore. Urz felt its stomach tighten. The hideous building was the Iron Kitchens, the center of the capital of Gluttony.

- - -

A/N: Ah, what fun! Now things really start picking up. What will happen now? R&R and the next chapter will be headed your way.


	9. I:viii Polluted Life

The next chapter, enjoy. Disclaimers are the same, blah blah blah... You know the drill. If you see some mistakes, please point them out to me.

* * *

CHAPTER VIII: POLLUTED LIFE

Morning found the castle inhabitants just as weary from worry as the passing night. They were no closer to an answer to the assault on the royal family than before, and this was troubling to the lone Queen.

Garnet sat by her chamber window, staring out into the young light of the rising sun. There were three Knights stationed just outside her bedroom door, as a part of Steiner's plan to tighten security within the edifice of rule. The Pluto Captain had informed her that there was a strong possibility that the attacker had entered through the Gargan Roo, as signs of disturbance in the basements had been found. This was odd to her. Even if whoever had done this had come in through the abandoned tunnels, the Alexandrian Knights that had been stationed there, no matter how few there would have been, would have caught the intruder.

There was a chance, then, of a traitor within the grounds. She didn't want to believe it, but she had to acknowledge the possibility.

There was no dissension amongst the Knights as far as she could tell. They were well-paid, well-fed, and well-trained. She and her family had put boundless trust in them for countless years, and there was no reason for that trust to be disabled. She let her shoulders slump. She would have the elder Knight look into the backgrounds of the guard. Perhaps that way they could find something, if the Knights were to blame for the intrusion.

- - -

This was bad. The mortal Prince was unconscious and they had fallen to Gluttony. Urz had hoped that they had bypassed the Level of Excess, but apparently not.

A faint sound reached its sloped ears. Tensing, it made for the nearest source of cover. The soft noises, footfalls, steadily became louder. Sweating bullets the Guardian dodged behind a outcropping of rocks and humongous veins, squeezing itself between them as carefully as it could with the broken mortal in hand. Silencing its breath and stilling its movements it peered out at the wreckage it had just left from between the shielding rocks, listening intently as the footsteps became clearer.

Loud huffs of breath and the steady scrape of metal on rock became audible, making the Guardian shiver. From its cover between the black stones it caught sight of two massive figures approaching from between the rising rocks, each dragging a giant cooking cleaver behind them. Spittle oozed from their tooth-infested mouths and utter bitterness blared out from their beady eyes. The wedge-shaped heads and long tails of hair tied from the back of the tight craniums instantly denoted them as a pair of the feared Gluttony's Chefs. The two were considerably larger than the ones Urz had seen in its earlier years, telling it that these were high on the social ladder amongst the rest of their kind. They were better dressed as well. Most Chefs didn't wear much more than the bloody smocks they were given at birth, but this pair had what appeared to be armour of some kind, though seemingly very light. The Gluttony's Chefs didn't need armour to stand as a one-man army. They could take an unreal beating and no conventional weapons could possibly harm them any more than a bothersome fly.

It held its breath as the patrolling pair, speaking gutturally to each other, stopped in their banter as they caught sight of the mess that had become the carriage and the infernal steeds. They advanced on the wreckage for a better look, hissing in suspicion. Urz was shaking under the cover of the rocks and veins. If the Chefs found them they were toast. It was exhausted and the Prince was essentially a dead weight. The two Chefs scoured the debris. The Cerberean creature kept as still and quiet as its weary form would allow. The Gluttony's Chefs were notorious murderers, hostile to everything, including their own kind they were so territorial. The mere fact that there were _two_ Chefs out here _together_ was boggling the Guardian's mind something fierce. Not unless they were outside their stomping grounds could any one Chef possibly co-exist in a remotely un-violent manner with another of its kind. Cannibalism and tension between genders was rampant in this species. On the best of terms they would hurl insults and curse each other, building resentment for the next time they would meet with cleavers. The mess that was generally left behind from an accidental, if not unfriendly encounter was sickening to most lesser Demons of The Inferno, but the violence was not confined to each other. A Chef's territorial nature extended to whatever had the potential to cross into its grounds, great or weak. Unless it was an invited guest, what was extremely rare enough as it was, it was deemed dead the moment it set foot into the Demon's kitchen. The violence and destruction that would follow suite would result in entire cooking areas destroyed by a single rampaging Chef attempting to eliminate the offending trespasser with their massive cooking utensils. Just how long that would take before the target either got away or was reduced to a bloody smear on the floor was anyone's guess.

Patrolling Gluttony's Chefs were meant for one purpose, which was to keep unwanted beings out, and Gluttony's prisoners in.

Urz took comfort in one thing: the eyesight of a Chef was relatively poor, and despite the size of their noses, so was their sense of smell. However, their hearing was truly exceptional. Thus, the creature was more concerned about being heard than spotted. The lightly armoured Greater Demons stepped about the pile of detritus with their vastly oversized cutting knives in hand, gurgling and growling to themselves. The Guardian was confident that it wouldn't attract the Chefs, but Philippe was another matter. The whelp may very well be unconscious, but that didn't mean that he couldn't make some kind of noise. It didn't trust the mortal maggot as far as it could drop him.

One of the Chefs had found what remained of The Founder's prized steeds, and was busying itself by picking at the flesh left behind and promptly eating it. Urz made a face. Well… the Lord of Pride was going to have a bit of trouble trying to piece It's horses back together once It found them. As the feeding beast continued to slurp back the tattered bits of infernal steed, its partner, occupied with rummaging through the mess of wood and metal, roared something at the other, hauling an object up from the rubble. The grey being strained to see from its shielded vantage. The massive creature had found the tailed Prince's pack and sword. Urz cursed silently to itself. It had been looking for those! It hoped that the two creatures would lose interest in their find and leave it with the rest of the obliterated cart. Tearing at a broken equine leg the first Chef stomped over to its howling patrol buddy. "_Tahw?_" it questioned irritably. Urz strained to hear.

"_Kool ta siht_," said the other, none-too-nicely. "_Ti t'nsi fo Lanrefni ekam_."

The first Chef snatched the pack from the other, nearly tearing the cover of the leather bag off the sack in its distaste. It seemed to frown at what it saw within. Grumbling, it pulled out a small jar of green gel. Gripping it by the gummed lid and turning it on its head the Chef promptly smashed the jar against a rock. Most of the stuff went flying and splattered against the stones, leaving only a small portion pooled in the lid, where the glass was still intact. Examining the sludge left behind, it took a suspicious whiff of the stuff. Glaring at the gel thereafter out of confusion, it held it out to the second Greater Demon, who in turn took a smell of the stuff itself. Making a similarly sour face as its 'friend' it grabbed a thick coating of the gel from the jar and ate it. The Guardian watched carefully as it tested the taste and texture of the jar's contents. Making smacking noises the Chef considered the gel. Growling loudly it spat the stuff out and went back about its way of rummaging through the debris, muttering something inaudible to the other. The first creature tossed what remained of the jar away and took out a bottle from the pack, filled with a glimmering blue fluid. Urz squinted from where it sat in hopes of gaining a sharper view. What was this Prince character packing? Rumbling, the massive beast pulled the sealing cork out with its teeth and spat it away. It took another customary sniff, and then took a swig of the contents. Like its partner in patrol, it spat it out, and then hurled the remains elsewhere.

As the first servant of Gluttony continued to search the meagre contents of the bag, the second creature abandoned a piece of warped metal to peer at the sword it had found seconds before. Rumbling to itself it pulled the blade from its sheath, revealing the heat-treated material. Seemingly recognising the sheen of the tempered metal it ran a thumb over the blade with a loud growl of suspicion and displeasure, rubbing the resulting cut against its index finger in contemplation. Meanwhile, the carrier of the bag had found something else of extreme interest. Frowning deeply the first Chef pulled a large, red tome from the depths of the pack. Urz eyed this discovery with suspicion. The book… didn't look like it belonged in the mortal's bag.

Seeming to sense this as well, the Chef peered at it closely, opening the text to a random page. The thing's frown deepened considerably at what it saw. The second patroller returned from its heap of trash, still staring over the blade, figuring it should share this new find with its grouchy partner. It grunted to get the other's attention.

The grey skinned Guardian was getting worried. Despite their violent disposition, the Chefs of Gluttony weren't stupid creatures. They ranked amongst some of the more intelligent lower-ranking Demons of The Inferno, and so could easily put two-and-two together. Hence, this pair could see that something was up. There was an intruder in their Level, and it wasn't of Demon stock.

"_Ees siht? A S'nevaeh Ecam_," informed the second Chef.

A what? Urz's face pinched in confusion. The term was ringing some distant bells, but it could glean nothing from them.

The first patroller growled darkly upon seeing the blade. "_On Nomed dluow yrrac a nopaew chus sa siht_…" it commented. "_Dna ees siht…_" It showed the other the book. "_A ediug ot Eht Onrefni_." A guide? To the Underworld? Urz was stunned. It was sure that those tomes had been lost or burned. It made a wrathful expression, glaring down at the unconscious Prince. Well… now it knew how the maggot-child got here…

"_Ew evah a ressapsert ni Ynottulg_."

They both considered this. A trespasser of any kind was never welcome on any Level, regardless of what it could be. Hell had too many enemies for the Eleven Lords and Ambassadors of The Inferno to be even slightly lenient with their security. If there was a problem in the Underworld, it had to be stopped at all costs. Whatever wormed past one Level was not going to get through another once wind of a possible intruder was up in the air. Too much was at stake to let something like that slide.

The two Chefs continued muttering to each other in hushed tones too quiet for the Guardian to catch.

It would have to be careful as well. Philippe was the main culprit now, being a mortal. But Urz was a Guardian, meant to do one thing at one post. The fact that it was free to traverse Hell at the moment was a monumental offence against everything it stood for. If caught, it would be made an example of by the Darkest Lord, the master of this Plane, and tormented for its foolishness. Not even The Founder would be able to gain it reprieve then. So like the tailed youth, it had to stay well away from the clutches of the Lords of Sin and the Ambassadors of Darkness. The quicker this whack-job of a quest was finished, the better.

They had to leave Gluttony.

But the troublesome burden of a Prince was still badly injured, and the shifter didn't have the energy it needed to completely heal him just yet, let alone storm through the Level to get to Wrath. It had to get the pack and sword back. The stuff the bag contained within was probably healing solvents, which probably answered for the Chefs' intense dislike of the gels and potions. It had to regain the sword as well. There was no way it was going to continuously risk its collared neck for this scum of mortality. The little prick would be pulling his own weight in the fights that were surely to come at this rate. It frowned at nothing. Mortals were _weak_.

Surveying the wreckage of the carriage one last time the two Chefs of Gluttony, with their spoils in hand, vacated the crash site, muttering to each other in dark, confidential tones.

Once they were out of earshot Urz removed itself from the cover of the stones. In the far distance it could see the two Greater Demons heading straight for the Iron Kitchens that rested in the center of Nis, Gluttony's capital. They needed to act quickly if they wanted to get back on track. Finding a level patch in the rocky landscape, it laid the mortal Prince out on the ground. It prepared itself for another attempt at healing. It looked the heir over uncertainly. One arm was broken, and so was a leg. As far as it could tell, the neck was fine, but the back was oddly crooked. With luck, the whelp's back wasn't broken, just fractured. The last thing it needed was to have to cart the pest on its back because his legs were paralysed.

Flipping the boy over carefully it reattempted to cure him of his ails. The green glow of health resurfaced in the Guardian's right palm, stronger than before, but still threateningly weak. Urz allowed itself to breathe easier as the Prince's backbone snapped into its proper place. Replacing the tailed youth on his back it set to work on the broken limbs, aiming to get the legs fully healed at the very least before its strength lost out a second time. The greater shape-shifter managed to get the other's shattered leg to recompose, but failed to keep the winning streak. Exhausted more now than before, Urz looked the boy over a third time. From what little it knew of mortal physiology it was sure the runt was fine. The spine was healed as were the legs, so the whelp could carry his own weight now; and that would be pivotal in staying alive in the Iron Kitchens. What dwelled there was unforgiving and vengeful to the letter. If they wanted to retrieve the stolen goods, they had to do so with relative haste, as the Lord of this Level was not one to share. If the Chefs brought their find straight to their ruler, then it was likely that they would have no way of getting it back.

Getting antsy, Urz gave its companion a light shake on the shoulder. "Hey, wake up," it requested. It gained no response. Through with being 'nice' about it, it gave a vicious pinch on one of the brunet's still-injured arm, knowing it would definitely get a rise out of that. Much to its pleasure the heir came almost instantly awake, choking on air and writhing on the ground in attempts to shield his wounded limb. "Good, you're awake," it commented simply.

Figuring that the Cerberean beast had something to do with his immediate pain Philippe shot the creature a glare. Urz grinned toothily back at him.

"Get up off your arse, Philippe, we have to go retrieve your junk," it informed him as it stood up from the ground.

"What?" he questioned, still fighting the pain of his sore body. His head was mildly spinning and his chest hurt. He brought himself up in a sitting position with some difficulty.

"Some greater Demon-folk stole your stuff," it clarified. "And we need to get it back, I assume, in order for you to complete your little 'quest' and leave."

Philippe picked out a bit more contempt in his guide's voice than before. What did he do now? "Oh? How did that happen?"

It rolled its eyes. "How do you think? We fell. We crashed. Your garbage got stolen. Is that so hard to put together?" it snapped.

The Prince was still a little dazed. What had happened? His vision cleared enough for him to catch sight of what little remained of the armoured carriage that had… crashed? He groaned loudly. That's right… And just what had been stolen? I quick check told him that his sword, his provisions, the Guide Book, and the all-important hourglass were gone. He searched the immediate area around him in frantic hopes that Urz was lying.

The grey skinned being huffed impatiently. "You understand now? Now get up." It seized the heir by the collar and hauled him to a standing position. He swayed on his feet for a second or two, the injured arm bent against his body protectively. "Now, can you walk? You took a nasty fall. If not, you're staying here. I don't have the energy to cart your carcass all over the place."

The youth waited for his head to clear from the vertigo that was being jolted upwards by a creature twice his size. He took an experimental step. "I think I can manage," he guessed.

Urz peered at him critically. "Fine. But if you fall behind…" It shrugged. "Depending on our situation, I may or may not hear you."

"Do you have to be so self-absorbed?!" shouted the Prince, finally at the breaking point with the thing's attitude.

Urz sneered at him. "You forget that _I'm not here of my own will_, in fact I'm not even supposed to _leave_ the Gates of the Damned. I could care less for what happens to slime like you."

The Prince scowled at it. What--why was this thing treating him like this? What was so much better than being cooped up at some set of doors? What did he ever do to it to deserve this… this _substandard_ treatment?

The Guardian could tell he was upset about something. "What's the matter with you, whelp?" It pinned him with a wide stare. "Is the _evwil deeman_ being too _mean?_" it cooed sarcastically.

"Why do you treat me like dirt?!" he exploded, waving his good arm in the air.

Urz didn't so much as flinch.

"What have I ever done to you to deserve this?!"

The creature swatted him on the temple, its expression impossibly flat. "Don't be such a fussy crybaby, maggot--"

"Stop calling me that!"

Swat. "Sush, or you'll attract your own death."

"Stop hitting me!"

Swat.

"Stop that!"

Swat.

"Urz!"

Swat. "What's the matter?" Swat. "Stand up for yourself, Terran _half-breed_." Swat.

Philippe could hardly get a word in. Whatever retort he wanted to make was smacked out of him before he could put it to use. How he _hated_ the way this freak of nature substituted his name for such obscene expletives. "Ow!"

Swat. "Is that all?" Swat. "Grow a constitution, freak." Swat. Its expression was still incredibly flat, but the fire that burned in the visible eye was frightening. Swat. "Say something, oh _Prince_." Swat. "You don't like my insults?" Swat. "Insult me back, then." Swat. "Or are you too pampered and weak to think one up?" Swat. "I saw the way you held yourself in front of The Founder." Swat. "Pathetic." Swat.

The Prince finally got a chance. "Oh yeah? What about you? You were cowering on the ground like some lost dog! What's the matter? Lonely?"

Smack.

Philippe was on the ground nursing a savaged jaw in surprise. He glared up at the Guardian. Its flat expression was still in place but the visage now carried a wide-eyed stare of pure and utter hatred. He saw its upper lip twitch as it reopened and cracked the fist it had just used to drive the heir to the hard earth. It seemed to consider hitting him again, only much harder. The creature then abruptly turned away and stepped off towards the edge of their small post, stopping to look out at the ugly landscape beyond.

The Prince knew he didn't need a hint to tell he had hit a nerve.

"Come on, Philippe. We need to get going if you want your crap back," said the beast from its place, not looking back.

He struggled to his feet with the leverage of his one good arm. It was using his name again. So, they were on equal grounds… for now.

- - -

Amarant, cynic of the world, bounty hunter extraordinaire, The Founder and Lord of the Prideful Damned, power-walked about his Fortress, heading for the most secret of his chambers. He was anxious of the current turn in events, with the presumed possession of his former companion and the appearance of his only son in his very halls. It had been _centuries_ since the last breach upon their shores, and even then, never before had one ever gone _unnoticed_. This was the second time in the span of only a week that something had been pried from the iron grip of their darkness, and that meant that there was something wrong within their delicate system of operations. Demons were going missing, the Damned were restless… there was something worming between their cords of control, and it needed to be stopped.

The Hall of Silence, sacred to all of Pride, now stood before him. Panes of surreal glass separated him from the green expanse of fluids and stone, where his siblings and fellow rulers slept. Great monoliths of obsidian core, crafted in the likeness of his peers in rest, spanned the void beyond the glass. He stopped before the clear wall that was all that kept them apart from him, but his mere presence delivered the wanted effect. The closed, rock eyes of the monoliths slid open as one, releasing a light of consciousness into the murk that kept them preserved eternally.

Without speaking, they greeted their sibling. "_**The silence of our Hall has been broken… Isxunhek… Why have you wakened us from our slumber?…**_"

The former man of crime was without expression. "_I need your insight_," he informed them simply.

"_**War is coming…**_"

"_I know that…_" he consented. "_I see it now, but there are more pressing matters to deal with_."

"_**Nothing is greater than war…**_" said the monoliths.

Amarant growled. "_I wish to prevent this war_."

"_**Then speak, sibling of ours… Tell us… Reveal to us your needs…**_" boomed the voices of the creatures contained within the colossal statues.

"_There are anomalies within the Inferno. Servants of Cleansing are going missing and the Damned are being riled against our will_--"

"_**Such we see…**_" interrupted the gathering of passed beings. "_**Then we sense no reprieve for the conflict to surely come… The damage has been done… The fronts have been made… The first steps of True Blasphemy have been taken… There is no hope…**_"

The redhead kept his posture, though he was very inclined to fall to his knees. "_You cannot tell me that it can't be undone_," he argued weakly.

The unwavering gaze of the colossi remained unchanged. "_**War will come… Such will rival the struggle for the Right to Exist at the Beginning… The greatest Wrong of the Right will drive the pain of both Heaven and Hell…**_"

"_The 'wrong of the right'?_"

"_**We have become numb… The scars run deep but no infliction has been felt… Transgressions of the blind serve only to make us look away…**_"

"_Wait_," how he hated it when they would start rambling, "_what are you implying? Mortals must be doing this_--"

"_**Two forces vie for a goal unbeknownst to us… Keep your gaze where it is least expected… Or those that may destroy us will be set free…**_" The hundreds of voices rang with perfect synchronisation. "_**We sense your confusion… The wheel of Chaos is already in motion… Speak with the Lords and Ambassadors… All must reach to prevent the turning from becoming perpetual… Such will destroy us all and everything…**_"

This was seeming to get much worse than he had expected it to ever be. "_I will gain audience with the Lords of Sin and inform them of your words, siblings_…"

"_**Haste is of the essence… War is coming…**_"

The eyes closed.

- - -

Philippe waited as Urz attempted to set and heal his broken arm. The demon succeeded, but only just. Testing his limb, he found it responding perfectly, but the ache still remained. "Thanks, Urz."

The thing snorted at him, sweating in exertion, bent over. "Now, if you're done whining can we go?"

"I wasn't whining," he defended.

"Psh." Urz stood up and started back for the edge of their small clearing.

Shaking his legs and arms experimentally one last time Philippe followed, eager to regain his possessions and continue on his search for his missing parent. Seeing him approach the grey skinned creature motioned to him and headed at a quick pace towards the iron welt that hung in the far distance.

- - -

Freya was in no better a mood than the one she had been in the day before. She considered just leaving, but she had obligations to help her friends, despite the fact that they refused to see the obvious. She stormed past the Knights of the castle, making them cower slightly. Some exchanged looks, and others were whispering. The Dragon Knight lifted her lip in mild contempt. Let them gossip what they would. She slowed her temperamental walk upon catching ear of a different set of voices.

A few garbled words told her that the Waltz and the younger Summoner were holding a small conference.

Growing oddly suspicious she ducked into the shadows, inching towards the sources of the voices to gain a better vantage for eavesdropping. She gained what she wanted soon enough.

"Vivi, I don't think we should involve too many people in this," said the blue haired woman confidentially to her fellow magic user.

The aging mage nodded from inside the confines of his collar and hat. "You are probably right. This is turning out to be quite a delicate situation, and nothing is helping."

"Yes… But I do believe… that we can find some answers in the attics," she informed him carefully.

Freya leaned in a bit closer from her hiding place.

"Oh?"

"There is a… force of some kind, up there; and I think that whatever it is may be what is keeping us away from what or why the Prince disappeared."

Vivi gripped his staff in contemplation, his crippled hand bent against him. "Are you sure?" he questioned softly, knowing full well that the royal Knights of Alexandria were about.

"Yes." Eiko had her eyes turned to the floor. The fire she had always seemed to possess was absent from her. "Vivi… I think we should leave the others out of this."

"Why?"

She shook her head. "I just don't think that…" she sighed. "I just don't think that it will be good for them. There are too many tensions between all of us already, and I don't want to see all that Zidane worked for torn to pieces over this."

The black mage nodded solemnly. "You're probably right. Do you wish to check the upper floors now?"

Eiko lifted her head to gaze out the window before her. "That would be best."

Freya watched them turn and leave.

Her innards were boiling. So, they wanted to unearth something all by themselves, hmm? She wouldn't stand for it. She wanted to find out just how far that sick bounty hunter went in his little endeavour against them. She knew he was behind all of this, and she intended to prove it. As silently as the breeze she slinked after them.

- - -

If there was one thing the tailed Prince was glad for, it was the fact there was no feeling of exhaustion for him in this place. The two of them had practically ran down the slopes of the crash site towards what was becoming clear to be a city of some kind, similar to the one he had just left. Only no wall was in place about it perimeter, instead, there was a chasm. Glowing red vapour poured from the gash in the earth, making the view to the other side waver hypnotically. The ugly veins seemed to congeal about the lip of the dangerous moat, diving inwards, but never resurfacing to touch the buildings on the other side.

Urz motioned for a halt, ducking behind a sizable black rock. Philippe dove after it, keeping enough distance between them to avoid being accidentally stabbed in the face from the protruding spokes of the Guardian's heavy collar. How did it manage with that thing?

Urz surveyed the land before them. Like Philippe, it felt no exertion from the dash, though its internal store reserved for benevolent arts was still dry. It had not been made for such alien work.

There was only one entrance into Nis, and that was a bridge. The vital construction spanned over the defending chasm not too far from their position, and at both ends, stood several Greater Demons at attention. The bridge itself was massive, stretching countless feet over the bubbling chasm beneath it that gave a glimpse into the Level below. Crafted from bone and sinew it was one of the first constructions ever built from the essences of those who came to the Inferno and had since then never gained leave for their actions. It was a rare punishment, but inescapable once given. They needed to cross it, but there was no way they could get past the guards pacing in pairs about its surface.

Philippe couldn't tear his gaze from the hideous beings that were keeping vigil over the gross thing that served as a path across the score in the smouldering ground. They were dressed in a similar fashion to the creature that his father had deemed a friend, with what he was sure to be the skins of human beings draped over their shoulders and tied about their bodies. Tall hoods or hats of some kind sat upon their heads, reaching upwards by at least a few feet. In their hands were what looked to be incredibly long, black spears. He couldn't tell from this distance, but it appeared as though they were riding atop reddish cubes with several sets of legs. They patrolled back and forth in a pattern that left no inch of the bridge unwatched at any time. He could think of no way to bypass these things like before. "What are they?" he asked quietly, keeping his voice low.

"They are the Nigrim," replied the Guardian, "the Guards of Gluttony. That's the only way across, and they won't show any mercy if they catch us."

Philippe swallowed, feeling ill.

Urz had an idea. Keeping silent, it motioned for the Prince to stay put, and left the cover of the rock. Heading towards the lip of the chasm it kept low to the ground, eyes pinned on the figures that were mere yards away. If it wasn't careful, they would spot it. It stopped suddenly. Heading towards the bridge at a deliberate pace, weapons dragging on the ground, were the Chefs that had confiscated the Prince's belongings. They must have passed them in their dash to reach the bridge. This was both good and bad news. The good part was that they could follow them directly if they could cross quickly enough, but there was an even stronger chance them being spotted in the meantime. The Chefs were still a ways from the bridge, and Urz restarted its trek for the chasm's edge.

The brunet watched anxiously as the shape-shifter darted from shadow to shadow towards the smoking pit. He looked back towards the bridge, spying a duo of some kind of giant heading for the patrolling 'Nigrim'. They were far from where he was crouching, and he couldn't get a good glimpse of them without leaving the safety of his cover. He opted to stay where he was. Reverting his attention to Urz, he saw it reach the outlining rocks at the chasm's border, turning to wave to tell him to follow after. Sweating profusely he hesitated, giving one last glance towards the creatures at the bridge, he dashed for his companion, trying to keep as low to the ground as possible. He reached the other without fail, though wishing still that he was back where he belonged in the world of the living. The Guardian ushered him closer towards the fiery 'moat's' edge, too close for the Prince's comfort. "What are we going to do?" he asked hastily, figuring he had best find out now.

Urz gave a quick glance over to the patrolling creatures, taking note that the Chefs were taking their sweet time. "We're going to scale the ledge beneath the lip of the chasm--"

"What?!"

"Shh!" admonished the other. "We'll shimmy our way to the bridge, and cross it from the underside."

"And what about after?" he interrogated, not at all happy with their plan.

"Then we'll edge along the ledge a second time. It won't be that bad," it said. "You won't feel fatigue, the problem would be if you were afraid of heights or something stupid like that."

Philippe glared at it.

"By the River Styx, you're not, are you?" Urz nearly pulled out its hair in frustration. "Well, that's too bad!" it nearly shouted. "Get down there!"

With some angry scuffling the two lowered themselves below the edge of the ringed smoking pit. Obscured by mist and red smoke they began making their way to the bridge, hoping they wouldn't be caught.

The tailed Prince was at the end of his rope. Too much had happened today. He clung to the hot rock as well as he could, keeping his eyes adverted from the fathomless pit below. It wasn't that he was _afraid_ of heights… he just didn't _like_ them. He was sweating bullets like nobody's business. The roar of the rising mist and smoke filled his ears and made his eyes water. The tailed Prince could just follow the Cerberean Guardian's grey form through the haze. A brief glance upwards told him that the Nigrim were pacing but feet from their heads, wandering close to the fumes, but never looking down. Lucky them. He tried to keep from staring, lest the feeling of being watched turned the gross beings' attention towards them.

Meanwhile, Urz was trying to get to the bridge as quickly as possible. The Chefs, growling at the guards, were being waylaid at the entrance; probably for security reasons. Though why anything would even want to imitate a Chef of Gluttony it couldn't fathom. It wasn't even sure of the reason Strong One had donned that skin. Already the two patrollers were shouting unkind insults at the Nigrim, unhappy at being kept from returning from their shift. The pacing bridge guards didn't raise to the Chef's insults, keeping remarkably calm as the two intruders shimmied their way to the underside of the construction right beneath their noses. It tried to move faster against the rocks.

Phillipe was struggling to keep up. It wasn't everyday that he went rock climbing with a mutant lunatic. Why was Urz going so fast? Was it trying to get rid of him or something? He couldn't comprehend why the thing detested him so much. He knew it did. It contested against him at every turn thus far, throwing rancorous insults of the like he had never thought he'd even _hear_. It was indignant treatment. After all, he was a Prince, descended from royal blood. It was the least he deserved, he felt, to be treated like thre royalty he was; which was with respect and ample pampering. Didn't being a future ruler back home have any bearing here? The voices coming from above were beginning to hurt his ears. The speech was soft, but it made his head ring horribly and his teeth chatter. He hoped his father was somewhere close by. They reached the bridge at long last. The Guardian didn't waste a moment, crawling like an insect to cling to the underside of the construction to continue to the far side of the chasm. Philippe remained where he was, unsure of how to follow. He took on look at the bridge, and instantly decided against touching it. It was made of _bones and sinew_ for Heaven's sake! The thing even _moved_ slightly, and he swore that he could see woeful faces screaming out from the material, morphing in and out of sight. A horrible groaning sound came from below, making him look downwards into the rising red mists. For a brief moment he could see the bottom. Grilled metal, the kind that industrial cages were made of, glared out from yards upon yards beneath him, with the smoke rising up from below them. The sight was lost to view as quickly as it had come. Yet again, the Prince was brutally reminded of where he was.

The Guardian was huffing to itself. It waited on the underside of the bridge for the Prince. Where was that idiot? If they wasted any more time, the Chefs would gain passage and pass them, and they would lose their trail. It held its ground for a few more seconds. Finally losing its patience completely it spun itself around and started back for the beginning of the bridge. It resisted the urge to tear at the bone and flesh it clutched for support as it found the mortal being, clinging to the wall in a near foetal position. What was the matter now? It made its way to the tailed youth, slowing to a stop once it got within a fair distance. "Oi. Get cracking, Prince," was its comment. An odd sound floated up from the shivering figure before it; a sound it knew well. Sobbing. It didn't have time for this. "Philippe," it poked him in the shoulder. "Let's go."

The Prince turned to look at it balefully. Tears streaked his cheeks in a forlorn manner. "Urz… It… really is Hell… Isn't it?"

The Guardian was momentarily speechless. Of course it was Hell. It was painted in nice big letters on the front gate. It wanted to knock some sense into the mortal, but the _expression_ on his face made it feel oddly… guilty. Why? Why should it be guilty? It was created to harm, not comfort. The mortal races had made this place from their own need to cleanse themselves of what they deemed as 'sin' and this was their greatest art from that. Hell was a creation of mortality, as was Heaven. What it didn't understand was why they refused to admit to it. The Inferno used to be revered, respected, and now it was hated by its very creators. Urz didn't understand; but it could relate.

"I can't… I can't take it, Urz," Philippe sobbed, facing the rock. "It's too much…"

Urz was silent. Then, "why?" it questioned seriously. "Why is it too much?"

The Prince just stared at it.

"What is it that makes you say that? It's not worse than what you have."

Philippe squinted at it. "What do you mean? There is no kingdom that's even remotely like this. This is a horrible, terrible, gross, disgusting, awful place!"

"Not so loud."

"Seriously, Urz, how can you say that this place is anything like the real world?"

The Guardian considered its answer. How it hated the term 'real world'. "What makes you think it's any different?" it questioned at last. "We have murderers, rapists, manipulators, liars, killers, thieves, traitors… We have rulers, Lords, Ambassadors, minions, knights, guards, cooks, manufacturers, people, salves… All the things you have." It peered at him sideways from its up-side-down position on the bridge. "We are no different from you."

The tailed youth shook his head. "No, that's not right--"

"Do you have a judicial system?" it interrogated.

He blinked. "Yeah."

"Do you punish what you deem to be 'wrong-doers'?"

"Yeah…"

The Guardian snorted. "Well there you go, the only difference I can see is that we don't let people escape." It regarded the Prince quietly. How disturbed he looked. "Come on. If you don't come to terms with this then you'll never get out of here at all, let alone alive. Let's go."

Philippe still didn't move, gripping the rock so hard the creature was sure he was going to break his own fingers. Rolling its eyes but feeling an odd, but small amount of pity towards the youth it extended a thick hand and grasped him securely by the shirt. Hefting him from the wall it listened intently to the argument that had finally subsided between the terrible Chefs and the equally horrible Nigrim. Grunting admittance from above the infernal cooks were allowed at last to pass and do their business. "Hold on to me," it directed the brunet. The Prince would be too slow to keep up if left on his own.

The tailed Prince just hung from the Guardian's grasp for a moment longer, still digesting what it had told him. It couldn't be true. He couldn't, wouldn't believe it. Receiving a small shake from the creature he finally did as he was told. Twisting around and gripping the thick arm supporting him he wrapped his legs about the other's waist and his arms around the neck. Realising that there was nothing to catch him if he fell, he made his holds as tight as he could, twisting his tail about the girth of that of the beast for good measure. He tucked his head beneath the rim of the insane five-spoked collar to keep from being stabbed as the shape-shifter moved.

Not really enjoying the mortal's extremely close proximity, the Cerberean beast tested its new confined range of movement and started forward, scuttling beneath the noses of the Greater Demons of Gluttony as quickly as it could. It strained to catch the heavy footfalls of the two Chefs over the constant hiss of the rising mists, receiving only the shuffling sounds of the Nigrim's multi-legged patrolling as they paced the bridge's length continuously. How far did those monsters get? It went faster. It was better to pass them and wait than to be passed and permanently left behind. If those things got to the Kitchens first, they would never find them.

- - -

The Summoner and the Waltz had reached the attics of the castle. "Do you feel it?" questioned the horned woman.

Vivi tested the arcane traces in the stale air. "Yes." He examined the invisible wisps carefully. It wasn't of Gaian stock. "Is this what had kept you out?"

Eiko nodded.

"Then… Let's find that door."

- - -

Philippe had his eyes closed. He had lost track of how much time had passed, but Urz had been carrying him for a fair while now. His grip on the thing was still tight. There was no way he wanted to chance falling into the molten pit far below. The burning rushes that accompanied the smoke burned his back through his clothing, constantly reminding him of what was just a slip away. He tried to focus on something else.

Urz still hadn't found the Chefs. They must have passed them, there was no way they could move as fast as they were. Nonetheless, the creature was not happy with the lack of footsteps above. Where were the patrolling Nigrim? It couldn't hear them. It stopped, trying to pick out anything that signalled life. If there was something wrong with the bridge…

There! It cocked its head to one side. A heavy rumble was moving up the construction from where they had begun their climb, and it was moving towards them very quickly. In seconds the entire edifice of bone and sinew was shaking crazily. A carriage was crossing into Gluttony. The Guardian felt the Prince tighten his grip. It dug its claws into the make of the bridge, making some tiny voices squeal in protest. It prepared itself for the worst. The rumbling became clearer as the source of the racket shot towards them for the other side. Several sets of misshapen hoofs and a quartet of wheels trundled violently over them, making the bridge shower loose debris into the burning void far below as they were shaken free. Tiny shards of bone pelted the grey creature in the face as the cart rode over their position. In a split second it was over. The bridge stilled and the falling bits of former life moved in a shower with the source of the commotion. Urz lifted its head it peer out into the distance ahead, wondering who could be in the carriage that had nearly shaken them loose. From the sound of it, the cart had been heavily armoured and pulled by at least four animals. Someone had something important to attend to in Gluttony. It started forwards a second time, thinking it best to simply leave such matters to whom they concerned.

They reached the far side of the bridge without mishap. Urz, with the Prince still latched to its back, left the underside of the bridge and shimmied away from the gross construction by way of the ledge of the pit, hoisting itself and its cargo back onto solid land eagerly once they were far enough away to keep from being spotted. Leaping away from the lip of the chasm it promptly dumped the brunet to the ground. "At last!" it sighed into the 'sky', stretching luxuriously. Philippe loosened his own joints by himself.

Looking out back towards the bridge the Guardian could just see the two Chefs, slugging leisurely across the last few yards of the only entry into the capital of Gluttony. Good, they hadn't lost them.

The Prince was busy looking elsewhere. Rising high above the twisted flat roofs of what he guessed were houses, was a hideous offence to the eyes crafted of warped glowing metal. He rose a finger to point at it. "What… is that?"

Urz turned, following the trajectory of the outstretched digit. It took in the sight of the industrial cube itself. "That…" it said softly, "is the Iron Kitchens."


	10. I:ix Gluttony and Sand

Disclaimers: I don't own FFIX... Things not previously involved in FFIX (OCs, locales, etc) are mine and all that jazz.

As promised, two reviews equals a new chapter for you all. I really appreciate it, I'm more than thrilled to hear what you all have to say! Constructive crit, suggestions and whatnot is more than welcome.

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CHAPTER IX: GLUTTONY AND SAND

Eiko and Vivi stood before the door to the final level of the attics. The rotting board of wood mocked them with its stillness as they regained their breath from the exertion of working their way through the arcane barrier that kept the wooden portal safe.

"Now that," huffed the Waltz, "Is an ugly door."

Eiko waved a hand at him, too out of breath to tell him to be more serious. The attempt at getting this far had taken a considerably larger toll on the both of them than it had only the Summoner the night before. Was this magic… adapting? It didn't matter. They were here now, and all that was left was the opening of the door itself. She found herself momentarily worried over just what would be awaiting them when they tried to pick the arcane lock.

"So, this is the one, right?" questioned the former black mage, gripping his staff with both hands.

"That's the one," she answered, hand over her chest.

Gazing at the plank of wood the younger of the two put out a hand, touching a finger against the aging material. The internal shock he received made him hiss and pull his hand away abruptly. It had been as if a thousand voices had been screaming at him at the same time, each yelling a different thing, demanding to be heard. It was an overload he couldn't stand. He swore he could hear some kind of _laugh_ as he glared venomously at the door. That barrier that kept himself and the Summoner away was so impossibly simple it was almost insulting, but its _quality_ was astounding. It was wrought of neither black nor white magic, it was something else entirely, almost like a combination of the two, which was impossible. So then, could this be what the old texts referred to as 'raw' magic, arcane power of the purest kind? If so, who could have put it there? From what he understood about magic, there was no mage of any shade or standing that could possibly wield such energy without destroying themselves and a fair part of the surrounding area. On top of that, the stuff was so rare that it was foolhardy to even attempt to gather it for just a single spell, no matter how simple. No human--No… no _Gaian_ could have set this barrier.

"Horrible, isn't it?" Eiko voiced quietly.

Vivi peered at her from the corner of his vision. It wasn't often she was so calm, despite her upbringing. He wasn't used to this quietness, but then again, considering the circumstances, it was perfectly natural. "How do you propose we remove this barrier?" he asked in turn, waving a hand over the airspace before the door.

She stood up straight. "I don't think that any common white or black magic can dispel it," she confessed. "We'll need something much stronger." From the look on her face, it was clear she didn't entirely have a plan of action.

Neither did Vivi. He took a stab in the dark. "What about Summoning magic?"

The woman considered this. "…Maybe. Harnessing the energy of the Eidolons through their root elements should provide enough of a front to lift the barrier."

"You mean summoning them from the gems that they inhabit?"

"Yes; like this one." She pulled out a large ruby stone, the home of Carbunkle, from the multiple confines of her dress. It was the least imposing of her Summoning Spirits. "Best to start small," she said. "Lest our experiment happens to take a more destructive turn." She motioned for the Waltz to take a step back. With the black mage behind her she held the scarlet stone forward at arms length towards the door. Her face scrunched in concentration, calling the Eidolon spirit forth from the earthly gem she gripped in her hand. The sizable ruby began to glow in her hand, signifying the awakening power of the ethereal creature contained within. The scarlet light spread like a shield before them, pushing towards the door that stood in their way. Eiko was chanting the sacred words that her folk had long before defined to serve their needs to bring the beings forth silently, getting faster with every pass. Soon the light was blinding. Vivi shielded his eyes in attempts to ward away the sting.

In a split of a second it was over. The light of Carbunkle vanished, and the blue haired woman was left on her knees, panting in exertion. "I… couldn't do it," she wheezed. "There's too much… behind that door…" The Black Waltz helped her back to her feet. "We need something stronger."

"Are you sure that it would be a safe course of action?" he questioned. "What happened with Carbunkle?"

She gripped the ruby tightly. "He was beaten back. …It was cruel." Eiko cast her gaze to the ground. "He says he was attacked with words, terrible words, denouncing everything he was. What… what kind of force takes down others with only words?"

Vivi thought, putting a hand to his invisible chin. "An odd tactic surely. But seemingly rather effective. There must be more behind this. Perhaps a different Eidolon would be more successful?"

"Perhaps. But I don't want to try anything too drastic." She put the red stone away, retrieving a golden red feather from the same hidden pocket as the gem before it. "This barrier is not of normal stock, and I'm sure that we don't even have to guess of where it's from. Maybe a benevolent fire could push it back." The Summoner retook her stance before the grown black mage and repeated the mantras taught to her by her grandfather, bringing the spirit of the Phoenix to bear before the malicious door. The horned woman only lasted for a sliver longer than before, falling to her knees as the light of the Eidolon vanished promptly.

"What happened?" Vivi helped her back to her feet a second time.

"The same thing again," she said. "Only this time, there was somebody threatening it… saying they would cook it and baste it in a pot. Apparently the voices went into great detail." She shook her head. "The spirit won't be ready for Summoning for a while I believe."

"I think we should leave this for now," advised the mage.

"What if we can't get back?" Eiko argued, turning around to face him. "If this magic is adaptive, then if we leave, there's a good chance that we won't be able to find the door a third time."

"Well we don't have the power to dispel the barrier," he argued back. "If we're going to bring this down we need something much stronger than what he have right now. I don't think Madeen would be able to break this crazy shield, either."

Eiko was silent a moment, scanning the ground in thought. She looked up at the Black Waltz. "Bahamut. Bahamut would. Odin. The Ark. Those three might have a chance. Bahamut is sheer raw power, and the Ark is probably a portion of the same stuff of whatever this thing is. But we would need to tell Garnet all that we've found if we're going to get her help. It's only fair."

Vivi nodded solemnly. "True. I just hope we won't be doing more damage than good in the process."

Eiko sighed. "There's not way to tell right now. But it's best to at least try. I think we all know now that keeping each other in the dark is not healthy for any of us."

- - -

"It's hideous."

Urz snorted. "No shit, Sherlock." It peered over at the bridge. The two Chefs were nearly at the road. Best to get moving if they were going to get to them before they reached the Kitchens. The shifter was struck by a thought. Just how were they going to get the supplies back, anyhow? It chilled at the very notion of having to possibly fight them. One Chef was bad. Two Chefs was suicide. The creatures were made to be brutal and merciless. Crafted at the Beginning, they were a part of the front of The Inferno's greatest Army when Necron declared false dominance over all existence. Even after all this time, the species hadn't lost any of their death-dealing prowess.

And what of the Gluttonous Damned? Nis was huge, but nowhere as large as Mis. Even so, the city was crawling with Damned prepared to Ascend and leave the brimstone and fire behind. Urz knew it would be fine, but once again, the Prince would be a prime target for fresh meat, and the Gluttonous would not be as easily staved off as the Prideful. It tapped its thick fingers against its face in panicked thought. Unless it could somehow hide the mortal there would be no end to trouble if they were spotted. Mortals, living mortals, were not welcome here. The mere fact that it was guiding this freak around Hell was boggling its mind. A force had stopped it from killing the boy at the Gates, and its own creator had ordered it to take it further to free a possessed soul. Something did not add up. Urz had its connections to tell it the happenings within the Levels of The Inferno, but even those were limited. There was no way to leech information from the Fortresses of Sin, as all servants were bound to secrecy. Torment and torture awaited those who breached this law, as well as those who had the information that was by rights not theirs.

The Chefs had reached the end of the bridge. They had best get moving. "Come on, Prince." It motioned for the youth to follow it.

Philippe kept as quiet a pace as he could, trying to emulate the other's soft footfalls. They weaved between the buildings, keeping to the deepest shadows. Urz would stop often, stiller than stone, and always looking out towards the lit main road. What was it looking for? They were too far for him to really see anything of value or clear comprehension from they were. Occasionally, he caught sight of the prisoners of this place. They were bloated, but their internal workings were evidently gone or trailing on the ground like some sick sausage strings. Others would follow behind, trying to pick at the rotting flesh being dragged behind the moaning target. Some were thin, though, charred like those from that last place they had been. But these ones were constantly drooling and snarling at each other, some ganging up on stockier beings and taking bites out of them. Some were even eating themselves. He briefly caught a glimpse of one in particular, who had lost one arm, and had been eating its own fingers from its remaining hand. The steady crunch of burnt flesh and wet bone didn't fade until the two of them moved on, the Guardian still staring out at the road far from them.

Urz kept its ears sharp for any disturbances that were too close for comfort. The Chefs were going faster than they were before, as if hit by some sense of urgency. It still didn't have a plan to retrieve the goods, and it needed one fast. They could remain unnoticed for only so long. Much to its dismay, its view of the Chefs was suddenly clouded over by a forced parade of Gluttonous Damned, a Duke of one of Nis' city quadrants was getting recognition for a useless position. The procession drowned out its view of their targets. "Shit!" It grabbed Philippe by the arm and promptly dragged him forwards. They needed to get to the end of the false parade or they would permanently lose the vicious Chefs. The damn 'parade' was coming from the direction they were headed, and if the amount of noise coming form it was any indication of its size, it was at least a mile long. Such marches were not rare in The Inferno. Most spanned several miles easily, depending on the creature being honoured for their cruelty or power.

The creature was running so fast, that it didn't even see the burnt and broken bodies shuffling in front of them until they were bowled over. It fell flat on its face and the Prince landed elsewhere. Hissing and spitting the Gluttonous Damned slugged back onto their feet, swinging their bodies in some demented display of displeasure. Urz leapt to its feet. Too late, some of them had found the Prince and were advancing on him.

"Urz! Help me!" The tailed brunet backed away from the chattering husks of life as far as he could, swiftly cornering himself against the soft non-rock of a sad excuse of a house. The shape-shifter ploughed forwards through the small crowd of gross beings, cursing at them in the same nonsensical language as before, making the Prince's ears sting.

"_Emils! Teg yawa morf ti! Seilf fo mucs! Kcab htiw uoy erofeb ruoy sluos era reverof denmednoc ot eht Diov of Xyts!_" Its insults and threats were not giving the desired effect. It should have known. The Gluttonous Damned had already passed through Pride, their ego reduced to nothing. There was no scarring string of words that would deter them. It would have to think of something else. It stood protectively before the mortal Prince, trying to think up a plan of action, any plan of action. Unfortunately, all the commotion was attracting more Damned to the scene, each knowing that such noise generally denoted that something juicy was being taken advantage of, and there was no flesh sweeter to the Damned than those of their former living counterparts. An idea coming to min, Urz took a gamble. Whipping an arm out it seized the nearest, fattest Damned it could. With the thing writhing in its hand it promptly tore off an arm, making it squeal like a swine. The crowd instantly began to scream horribly as the scent of fresh blood stained the air. It tossed the limb into the growing gathering, hurling the body into the masses swiftly afterwards.

Philippe watched in utter horror. No sooner had the thing hit the ground that its fellows converged upon it. Dark, nearly black juices and innards were spraying up and all over from where it had landed as the rest swiftly took all that they could, eating what they could grab as quickly as possible. Most weren't even chewing what they took. They soon began to bite and tear at each other as the remaining stuff was taken, with more and more plumes of violence and blood churning into the air and ground. His guide forced his gaze away as it took him by the waist and launched them both into the air, sailing over the rooftop to land on the very edge of the eaves. Wasting no time Urz bolted forwards, heading in a direction Philippe could not fathom. Below them in the alleys and streets, countless numbers of the charred forms were headed for the carnage being wrought blocks away, each screaming and howling and shuffling as fast as they could.

Urz ran and leapt away from the main road, cursing mentally as it did so. There was too much commotion now to chance staying so close to the larger walkways. They would be found certainly, and quickly disposed of. At this rate, they would lose the Chefs, and have to infiltrate the Iron Kitchens unless the madness died down a lot faster than it was currently growing. All the chaos was bound to attract Demons to the scene, those that kept the city in some form of order. They would not be pleased with what it had created. It was all the mortal's fault. He stood out like a bad stain of non-dead and had a _smell_ about him that just reeked of 'I'm human!' It was gross and it was what was costing them both time and progress. The runt was surely going to die unless they found a way to mask all of what made him different from the Infernal Folk. An ugly gash in the make of the city was fast approaching. They could take temporary cover there.

A sudden, disgusting, sick reek hit his nostrils with the force of a hammer to the head. The heir to the Alexandrian throne nearly pitched his lunch and breakfast out into the airspace it was so powerful. What were they heading for? Some kind of dump? When the grey beast finally stopped and set him down he retched. They were surrounded by detritus on all ends, rotting material, unnatural furniture, garbage and what could have been bodies of animals were littered everywhere as far as the eye could see. What could have possessed the thing to stop running here in this place? "We're not staying here, are we?" he managed between coughs. His eyes were watering! Ug, it was so disgusting!

"Don't get your panties in a bunch, Prince. We're staying here for as long as we need to."

"Ag, the stuff is glowing _green!_"

"Shut it and take it like the man you'll never become."

"Hey!"

Urz laughed at him. "Your buttons are so easy to push." It wandered off in a random direction, leaving the Prince to wallow in sickness by himself.

Philippe hated the way it insulted him. It was juvenile and stupid. Geeze, he wanted to insult that thing back, but he probably already used his best sting. And he felt that if he brought that one comment up again Urz would pile drive him into the ground and then some. He simply sulked instead.

The Guardian surveyed the garbage all around it. Indeed, this must be some kind of trash dump. Though on closer inspection it could see that it wasn't merely items that were being thrown here. Corpses of Demons of all forms and ranks were littered about amongst the trash, some fresh others half rotted and eaten by parasites and maggots. It continued to walk a ways, stopping upon seeing something of interest. A body, that of a Chef, laid amongst the sludge. It grabbed the body and hauled it out for a closer look. It had been a young Chef, barely out of childhood. Its body was badly bruised, as if it had been beaten. The head was rolling unnaturally on the neck, telling it that the thing had died from a broken neck. It looked as though it had passed recently. The scavengers in the dump hadn't started on the body yet. Urz hummed contemplatively to itself, an idea coming to mind. The young Chef was not much larger than the Prince…

"Hey, maggot! Come here!"

Philippe made a face, pinching his nose to keep the brunt of the stink at bay. The Guardian was coming back from wherever it had gone, with some kind of something slung over its back. "What?" he called out.

"How tall are you?"

"What?" What was that thing going on about now? Was that… a body? "What did you do?"

Urz frowned at him. "I didn't do nothing. Stand up straight." It held up the body of the dead Gluttony's Chef to compare it to the Prince.

"Ew! Get that away!" He stumbled backwards.

"Stand still, you hoser!"

"I'm not a hoser!" It occurred to him that he didn't really know what a 'hoser' was. Urz grabbed him to keep him where he was. He held the dead thing up next to him, clearly not caring for how disgusted the tailed brunet was. "Gah! What is that?" he shouted.

"Clamp it. It's a dead Gluttony's Chef, one of the higher ranking Demons on the Second Level."

"What did you bring it over here for? It's gross!"

The Cerberean creature rolled its eyes. "We're going to use this to keep you from being such a target." It placed the corpse on the ground. It promptly removed the small smock it wore and plunged a clawed fist into the stomach. Dragging the appendage out it pulled into the open with it a handful of black intestines. Urz ignored the Prince's retching noises and continued its work. It dredged out as much of the soft inner workings as possible, the black slime that served at the creature's blood coating all of its arm. The belly empty it gripped the hole in the skin it had made and gave a vicious yank. The yellowed flesh tore cleanly up to the neck, just as much as it needed.

Philippe had just lost his lunch, breakfast, and last night's dinner. He stumbled away from the bile he had left on the ground, feeling more than a little ill. This place was full of lunatics and crazy people. He wanted to go home, and have a nap, have some clean food, have a bath, and be away from dead, crazy, people-eating people. He bubbled to himself incoherently.

"Come here, freak!"

Philippe waved an arm negatively at the grey creature.

The Guardian got up and stalked towards him.

The brunet Prince squealed in horror as something warm and wet and heavy was draped grossly over his shoulders. "Shut up, freak!"

The tailed youth spun around, trying to get away from the grey creature. "Get it off get it off!" An unintentional feel told him that what was on him was the skin of the thing his guide had dragged over to him and gutted right before his very eyes. "SSIIICCCKKK!" Urz caught him and forced his struggles to a close.

"Would you stop it!" It shook him. It began to force the other into the skin of the Chef. It fit like a mutilated glove. "There. You look great."

Philippe was totally grossed out. He tried not to move his fingers in the hands of the deceased being. "I hope you know I hate you." Good lord it was so gross.

"Then my life is complete," it scoffed. "Stop whining." It pulled the head into place and forced the chest closed. "Hold still." Urz grabbed the discarded smock and tied it around the Prince to keep the skin in place.

"Why am I wearing this?!"

"So we can get past all the Damned here. They wouldn't dare attack anything that even remotely looks like a Chef." It smacked him good naturedly on the shoulder. "Now we can get your crap back."

Philippe was disgusted beyond anything he had ever imagined was possible. The shell stunk horribly and he felt as though he had crossed some kind of unseen border of all that was sane and sanitary. Urz had gouged out the thing's beady eyes so that he could see. He could see the thing smirking like the devil at him.

"Pfft," it laughed. "You look much better now. You even don't stink as much. We'll get through the streets just fine."

"What?!"

"Shut it and walk." The Guardian turned on its grey heel and started for the main road.

- - -

Freya was furious. She had followed the mages up to the attics, but had somehow lost them once they had reached the uppermost level. Just how this kept happening she could not fathom. She was the best tracker in her kingdom, and yet see had lost them. She had eventually given up and retreated to the lower levels, marching angrily past the royal chambers. The doctor was surveying the Prince's chambers, last she heard, trying to find any clues as to what had happened to the boy.

Since she had nothing better to do to relieve her anger, she thought to drop in on him, and see whether or not he had discovered anything of interest.

- - -

Steiner was exhausted, but he could not allow himself to rest for more than a moment. He had been requested by Doctor Tot and the two mages to look over the history and disposition of his knights, though just exactly why he was not sure. Most had been with the royal family for many years and could be trusted with anything, though some were a bit more lazy than he'd like. Either way, he understood their concern. What if the attacks had been staged by someone within the castle's very walls? The Captain didn't think that his overseeing abilities were so lax that he wouldn't have seen something like that coming from a mile away. He could read his knights like books.

As far as could tell as of now there were no indications of treachery stemming from the ranks of Pluto or Alexandrian Knights. They were all clean. Their devotion to the Alexandrian family was absolute and pure.

He clanked down through the lowest levels of the castle, trying to occupy himself and keep his mind from wandering into worrisome territory. He had faith in his knights.

The basements were the oldest portions of the castle, left from when the edifice had first been built over thirteen generations ago. It was older than the Alexandros name itself. Initially it had been the estate home of some duke or lord, as far as he recalled. And even before that, it had been a jailhouse. He hated coming down here, and so did many of his knights. The centuries-old prison cells were still intact, with their doors fully functional and as sturdy as when they had first been pulled from the forge. The wooden beams that held the lower levels up, however, were all but completely rotted through. Many were glistening with the residue of slow disintegration, creating an odd, gross glittering effect as he passed them by. There was probably a skeleton or two hanging around in here somewhere. He shuddered at the mere idea.

The old dungeons were largely unmapped, as the original blueprints for the first building's construction had long since been lost. The jails had several floors, and extended well beneath the ground, if rumours held true.

All that Steiner had to light his way was a torch. The flame was bright, but could not dash all the shadows that surrounded him. He had always known that the knights didn't come down here on patrol often enough, but there was and had been little he could do to encourage them to up-step this practice. Even less so now.

The old Knight was no coward, but he was no fonder of darkness than he had been when he was five. He steeled himself. He had to set a good example for his knights. What would they think if their Captain came back early from the dungeons from a mere dislike to the dark? It would make him a laughing stock amongst his own men.

Just why he had the compulsion to check the basements today was beyond him. He hated this place as much as everyone else who knew of its existence. He still thought that the Queen should have this place filled with rocks and dirt and seal it away forever. The elegance of the castle didn't need to be tarnished by the open presence of this place.

He had heard that there was a store of instruments of torture down here.

He shuddered at the idea. The royal Alexandros family did not torture their people.

Fourth floor below ground. That was were he was now. This was as far as he had gone into the basements since the day he had first signed up. He had never worked the nerve to go further down. Though he had found the stairs that went there. And that set of stairs was where he was ultimately headed. He would need to completely survey all that was down there, and make sure that there wasn't something vital that they had been ignoring, such as a secret passage, or a hidden cave to the outside. He found his way to the wooden trap door that barred the way between this floor and the next below easily enough. The square of wood was rotted and pocked with holes, but had held for all this time nonetheless. The metal ring that served as the knob was still intact. With the burning torch still in hand he knelt on the stone and took the ring into his hand for the first time. Gods! The metal was so cold it ate through this glove straight to his bones. With a restrained grunt he heaved on the thing.

In a shower of dust and rotten woodchips the door lifted from its depression in the floor, falling back to reveal the yawning hole beyond it with a bang. A miasma of age and past disease wafted up from the new chasm that laid at Steiner's feet, making him take a slight step backwards. By Alexander! He waved a hand over his nose for a moment before lifting his torch to illuminate the immediate area beyond the gaping hole in the ground. A single set of wooden steps, glistening with moss and the sludge of decomposition, lead into the chambers of punishment below. The Pluto Captain steeled his resolve and tested the wood with a foot. The step proved to be surprisingly sturdy. Taking his chances he descended into the fifth underground floor of the forgotten dungeon as carefully as possible.

The light of the torch banished the suffocating darkness that dwelled there for the first time in generations. The shadows melted away with supreme reluctance, allowing only so much to be seen at once. Steiner never thought in all his years of service that such a foreboding place existed in the peaceful halls of the revered Alexandria Castle. As disgusted and disturbed as he was he had to take a full sweep of this floor and any that could be below it. He wondered at how far below the surface of the earth he had come.

The walls of this new level were covered in moss and dribbling slime. Prison doors lined the stones in a perfect pattern. With a sturdy wall behind him there was only one direction open to him. Heading away from the only portal back up he scanned this new area of darkness and secrecy carefully, taking note of everything he could see. Nothing would be left unfound, he swore. The lives of the royal were family were at stake, and he couldn't afford to miss anything. This alone drove him to the ends he would often go to make sure of the security and peacefulness of the castle itself. There was nothing he wouldn't do for his Queen and her people.

Thankfully, the fifth floor of this godforsaken place was largely empty and uninteresting. It was even less littered than the floors above it, which surprised him. The hall was long, and had only a few forks, which didn't reach very far, either. He was essentially kept on one road.

As he wound farther away from the trapdoor that brought him here he began to notice something different. The atmosphere was getting thicker, warmer. Before now everything had been cold and the air had been thin. The stones upon the walls were streaked with something dark, and some even looked to be still wet. Steiner brought up his caution. He had his sword, but left it where it was on his back. Not even mice and rats came down here, so there should be no reason for him to draw it into the open. It had to just be the musty atmosphere.

Even so, his nerve was taking an odd fall.

Something was lacing through the cracks in the stones upon the wall, weaving to the floor and winding off head of him. With no other alternatives and bound to do his duty Steiner followed. As he walked more and more of the odd vines of dark material were trailing along the cold ground. He couldn't tell what colour they were. Those he trod upon were soft and yielding, but stuck to his soles like slimy sponges. He could see the end of the fifth floor, but much to his dismay, another trapdoor signified yet another buried level of the old building. The lacings of whatever congealed all about and over the wooden door, almost hiding it from view. Either way, he had to open it and see what was below. He gripped the uncovered metal ring of the door and heaved. With a gross squishing and squeaking noise the portal lifted, but not far enough, the stuff all about the floor keeping it shut. Thin sheets of translucent slime clung to the lip of the door and its hole.

Grunting he set the thing back down. He would have to use both hands. He set the torch carefully on the ground, illuminating the strings of stuff. The lacings were a deep red, he found, and glistened unnaturally. Ignoring the stuff he gripped the stubborn ring with both gloved hands and lifted with all his might. The organic ties stretched and snapped under his strength, releasing the door. The slime flew in all directions as its own surface tension was pulled to its limit. The wooden door fell to the other side without hardly a sound, landing on the plushy mass of the lacings gathered behind it. Steiner picked up his torch and shone it into the hole. Heat wafted up from the sore in the ground, making him sweat. Down below the red lacings and vines were even greater in number, thicker.

The moment he stepped on the first plank of wood that served as the stairs his boots hit the stuff. The slime from above clung to his every step.

Even with the torch he could not see hardly a few feet from his position. The floor was utterly covered by the scarlet vines, and it resembled no moss or lichen that he could think of. By the time he had reached the bottom of the stairs he swore that temperature of the place had risen by at least thirty degrees. He was sweating in his armour like nobody's business.

An odd wet, squishing noise was coming from far ahead, where the light of his orange torch could not reach. Steiner wasn't very inclined to find out what it was, but once again, he reminded himself, he had little choice in the matter.

The farther he went down this new hall, the thicker the vines became, and the hotter it got. Even the prison doors could no longer be seen. The roof was covered as much as the floor, and ooze was trialing from the ceiling everywhere. And the smell! Steiner could recognise the reek anywhere. Spilt blood. It made him suspicious. He drew his sword at long last, his torch still steadily gripped with the other hand. The noise was getting louder now. He must he getting close. Any other hallways, if any more there were, had been clogged with the vines. Some of them were pulsing now. The walls were red.

When Steiner finally came to the end of the sixth floor, what he saw disgusted him.

Sitting on the wall, pulsing in time with some unknown force, was a welt, a slash of flesh. The raised mound dominated the back wall, with a cut from the top to the bottom spilling something translucent, orange-red and noxious all about the floor. What the Hell was this? What had he found? Never in all his life had the Pluto Captain seen such a thing. The welt bled freely from its closed gash, making the man of steel sick. Whatever it was it didn't belong here.

But what was he to do? Attack it? Go and inform Doctor Tot? He didn't know.

With a stretching noise the welt shuddered and the gash pulled open, revealing layers of what appeared to be red flesh. The man held out his sword, shaking from head to toe. The ungodly meat pushed forwards, bleeding profusely everywhere. Something covered in a thin film reached out from between the folds, straining for the outside, but was held back. The something vanished.

Steiner was frozen in place. The thing did not return.

With his sword at the ready he chanced a small step forwards. He wanted to know just what this thing was. He got as close as he dared, lifting the torch to get a good look before he finally lost his nerve completely and fled the scene. He took one step closer.

The thing wrapped in pink film shot out from the confines of the bleeding flesh, nearly striking the knight full in the face as it flailed about. The film broke as he stumbled backwards, revealing the attacking thing to be a pale arm tipped with a clawed hand. Steiner swung his blade on reflex, severing the appendage from the limb in one clean swipe. An unearthly shriek sounded from nowhere and the limb vanished. He grabbed the hand on impulse and ran for his life, the hideous welt on the wall still bleeding in its dark corner.

- - -

"This is so gross."

"Stop whining already, you'll blow our cover."

The two unlikely companions meandered along the alleyways, trying to find a way back towards the main road. Urz was certain that by now the two patrolling Gluttony's Chefs had probably reached the last mile before the Iron Kitchens. And from where they were, they were far, far behind. They had to pick up the pace, though it knew that their road was going to ultimately lead them to a place they didn't want to be. It urged the Prince to move faster.

Philippe tried to do as he was told, but the suit of skin, though it moved quite well on him, was just grossing him out utterly. He was pining for some fresh air. But what Urz had said was true. The strange charred beings now avoided him completely. They had been running for hours, he swore. Though thanks to the fact that he could feel no fatigue, and that he had lost the hourglass, he couldn't solidify this assumption. He was getting incredibly worried. Just how long had he truly been here? He hoped it wasn't as long as he thought it was. He only had so long to find and free his father, and the longer his took, the less chance he had of doing either. He wasn't ready to lose his parent. Nor was he ready to take up his mantle of power should he fail but return. "How much farther?"

Urz didn't reply, keeping its attention to the streets.

Just for how much longer they ran neither knew. But now the offensive grilled cube of metal that was Gluttony's fortress stood mere blocks away. Great lengths of colossal chain held the industrial building stationary in the air as is floated against all laws of gravity and sense above the ground. The fires and mists from far below swirled and smoked all around its base, were a circular chasm fell into an unseen depth. Urz could see with utter loss that the Chefs, whom they had been chasing, were already halfway across the swaying bridge to the front doors of the Kitchens. It punched the nearest wall in frustration, putting a sizable hole in its fleshy make.

"What's wrong?" questioned the Prince, unsure of why the thing was so angry.

Urz glared at nothing. "We're too late. The Demons that took your stuff are already at the fortress. There's no way we can catch them now, even if we follow them in."

"But I need all that back!"

"Don't you think I know that?" shouted Urz back. It peered angrily at the giant mess of metal. The Chefs, goods still in hand, were waiting to be given clearance by a small group of Nigrim stationed at the Iron Kitchen's entrance. It growled dangerously as they were given passage. In a wink they disappeared behind the red metal doors of Nis' greatest building. Great. And just how were they going to follow? It seemed as though there was only one way in, and it doubted that the Nigrim standing before the doors would let them through. The Prince's disguise would fool only so many. On top of that, it was fully aware that its own identity would be readily apparent, for Urz had a unique appearance even amongst this natural smorgasbord of creatures. Just how many servants of The Inferno had a spoked collar suspended in the middle of their necks? Not many. Urz knew this for a fact, for it had been warned by those ranked much higher above itself that its station was unique amongst the Demons of Hell, and that meant that if it escaped the confines of its station at the Gates, there would be nowhere to hide. There was no shape-shifting that it could perform that could hide the obscene collar from sight. It had tried and tried and tried again, but nothing worked. The iron ring had properties it didn't even have the faintest clue about, which made it visible and instantly recognisable to all.

The tailed Prince, stuffed in some other beast's skin, was aware that they apparently needed to get inside the ugly floating cube of metal floating over the glowing abyss not too far away. Or at least that was his guess. He surveyed the edifice himself, thinking, like Urz, that the front door was not an option. He got an idea. He poked the Guardian in the shoulder. It glared at him. He pointed to the giant chains. "What about those?" he asked. "They have to lead inside, don't they?" He couldn't entirely tell from his vantage, but he hoped Urz could see what he assumed was there.

The Cerberean beast was surprised. To its sharp vision it could see what the other guessed at. The massive links flowed straight into a punch in the cube's make. "Well," it said, evaluating the chains in turn. "I guess you're not as brainless as you look." It grabbed him by the arm and hauled him off towards the nearest set of colossal links.

The bolt holding the chain to the ground was easy enough to find, and thankfully there was no one stationed there for watch. But then again, what for? There was no force known by Demon or Angel that could possibly wrench the bolt free and release the links.

Philippe wanted very much to get rid of the poser flesh he was carrying. "Can I take this off yet?" he questioned with more than a little bit of whine.

"No," it replied heatedly, walking right up to the bolt speared into the hard earth. The ground around the giant shaft of metal was oozing blood from deep within. The Inferno was alive, and in more ways than one. It was the way it had always been, and would always be. "Keep it on. Once we get inside the Kitchens, we'll need every ounce of cover we can get." It latched itself to the cold metal and scaled it like a gecko.

Figuring he had to do the same, the brunet, sweating inside his costume, gripped what pocks and scratches along the metal he could and pulled himself up. The Gluttonous Damned shambling about the area just moved about aimlessly, not caring about the break in that was going to happen as they wandered in circles and shrieked purposelessly at the nonexistent sky. At the top, Urz waited for the Prince to catch up. A small piece of iron laid atop the bolt it had climbed. It picked it up in boredom, tossing it up and catching it again.

Getting impatient, it considered the thing it had found, and the Damned below. With a sadistic smile it held the piece out and dropped it. The little thing of iron smacked into one of the limping Damned squarely on the head. It howled and hissed, swinging its body about in annoyance, half its head caved in from the rock. It swung its arms in a nonsensical way to ward off whatever its harasser might be. Up above Urz was laughing itself stupid. Still climbing, Philippe was oblivious. Some of the other Damned were chiming in on the noise the assaulted one was making, making one shout a brief cacophony before becoming quiet once more. A few still continued to yell at nothing, not caring that everyone else had shut up.

The Guardian had found a new way to pass the time. Giggling stupidly it grabbed another rock of metal, aimed, and hurled it from its post. The thing pelted into yet another Damned, who had been shuffling in a gyroscopic manner on the edge of the dirty square that surrounded the bolt. The being toppled to the ground, howling and rolling about the dirt. Once again every other charred husk of former life around it began to join in on the shouting. Yelling and shrieking amongst its peers the brutalised sufferer got up and swung its limbs madly, nearly knocking itself back over. The iron rock Urz had hit it with eventually fell out of its body and rolled away. Urz was on its back, kicking its legs in the air in morbid laughter.

Meanwhile, Philippe had gotten the idea that something was up, and it involved his guide. He peered upwards just in time to catch a third rock of metal shoot from the top of the bolt and smack into a third victim below. Chaos once again followed. He could hear Urz laughing itself sick. "Urz, what are you doing?"

"Hahaaaa!" howled Urz.

The disguised Prince finally reached the top, hauling his body up beside his companion. "Urz?"

The Cerberean beast sat up and passed him a small block of iron. "Here, throw one," it directed, grinning wide.

"What?" He watched as Urz took another for itself and hurled it into the crowd. Injury and noise followed. "Urz, you shouldn't do that!" he admonished, feeling guilty about what his 'friend' was doing.

Urz laughed. "Throw it! Its hilarious, come on."

"No! Its wrong!"

It made a face. "Oh, please. Don't tell me you feel _sorry_ for these idiots? They deserve it! They put themselves here, let them suffer like they're supposed to." It grabbed another iron rock. "Besides, it helps them gain what they came here to find." It raised its arm.

Philippe reached out and grabbed its arm on impulse, keeping it from throwing the stone of metal. "No! Stop it, Urz!"

The creature turned its head to give him a sneer that sent shivers down his spine. "_Let go of me_." Startled, he did just that. Urz stood up, towering over the youth. "Don't you ever do that again," hissed Urz. "The sooner you get the idea of what this place stands for, the better." It turned angrily and hurled the stone into the distance with inhuman strength. The Gluttonous Damned that got in the projectile's way was badly hit, its head shattering and spilling vitals everywhere about the ground. The thing crumbled to the ground and those around it went berserk, stopping in whatever they were doing to tear at the bleeding semi-corpse. "Get up and follow me, maggot."

Sickened at the display below and oddly shaken at the other's words, Philippe obeyed. They began the steady climb up to the Iron Kitchens, with all Hell breaking lose in the square below.

- - -

_--All was quiet--Just as it should be--Strong One, closest servant of The Founder, perused the Nursery on its aimless patrol--The Master was away on Its duties, to speak with the neighbouring Lords far below--Such things it did not care for, the other forces of Damnation--It was of Pride, and that was all that mattered to the creature--_

_--Commotion rose from a far corner of the throbbing chamber that was the Master's all-important Nursery--Squeals of confusion and upset roared out from the shifter whelps, demanding comfort from the Master that was currently only half here--The walls rumbled and the pups quieted in their corner, some still shrieking and twisting around in disorder--Intrigued, Strong One wandered closer to investigate--The young shape-shifters, but newly born and grievously pale, squirmed in its presence, they knew its station at The Founder's side--They envied it--Strong One, still in the skin it donned years ago to save the Master when Its mind had been clouded by a malicious haze, dragged its keepsake blade along the ground as it advanced on the source of the noise and confusion--One small whelpling, still crying in dejection, sat huddled by itself in a corner, holding its arm close to its body--The older shifter could see that its hand was missing, brutally removed--"Who did this?" it questioned them--The assembled pups merely rolled about the cesspools and clambered over each other like the fool newborns they were--One pointed vaguely to the wall, where something out of place had taken residence--_

_--Strong One growled and dragged itself to the far wall--There was a mound, a cut in the flesh of the walls that was never there before--Several of the pale whelps were poking at it and shoving their limbs through the gash experimentally, one caught with its midsection and bottom sticking out into the air--Growling, the larger shifter grabbed it and threw it aside, forcing the others to vacate as well--What was this?--Strong One surveyed the thing closely--The walls pulsed unnaturally around it, not with the Master's heartbeat as it should be--Was this some form of infection?--Was the Master sick?--Precious amniotic fluids were draining from the Nursery ground into the hole in the wall--It stopped before the anomaly--The air was different around it, colder, thinner--Strong One knew instantly that whatever it was, it was dangerous, a threat to the Progeny and possibly The Founder Itself--It wailed into the air, making the little ones caper and squeal like animals--Larger shape-shifters, more knowledgeable than the whelplings around it, came at its call--Strong One directed them to stand guard before the wound in the wall of the Master's body--Nothing was to get out, and nothing was to get in--Anything that breached the wall was to be destroyed on sight--_


End file.
